Truth in the Prophecy
by everynowandagain
Summary: The daughter of Beren and Luthien is brought to Middle Earth to help lead the defence of Rohan. She discovers that prophecies have been made about her life and grapples with whether to follow them or to carve her own path. EomerOC, some LegolasOC, MSish.
1. Chapter 1

Note: this story gets off to a bit of a slow start, but the background information should be worth it. Also, I depart from canon as far as the story of Beren and Luthien is concerned. For simplicity's sake, I follow the movie's course of events.

* * *

_The dark-haired woman sat regally in her chair. The lines of worry and trepidation had worn their way into her face. In her arms, she clung to her child, who was cooing softly, unaware of the events surrounding her. The woman bent her head down, allowing her unbound hair to fall before her face. The infant grasped at strands, twirling them through her small fingers._

_A graying man approached the two and laid a heavy hand on his wife's shoulder, rubbing circles against the cloth of her dress. He looked down at the infant, their daughter, steadily._

"_It is for the best, Beren. We do not have many years left before us to raise one so small.", the woman whispered, not for the first time that day._

"_I suppose that we will see her again in the end of time, my Tinúviel. The Valar cannot be so cruel.", the man called Beren replied. He reached out a hand to stroke the infant's fine red hair._

_The woman pulled the child closer to her and began to rock the baby on her knee. The time was close – she had always been able to sense such things. _

_At the edge of the forest, an elderly man on a horse emerged. His grey hair fell long down his back, mixing with the grey of his robe. He stepped down from the tawny horse he was riding and began to walk towards the couple and the child._

"_Olórin. You have come for my child?", the woman asked._

"_Yes, my lady. She will be well cared for by the Valar until her time comes. This will not be the last you see of her.", the old man answered._

"_And when is her time? Surely there cannot be another war over the Silmarils?", asked Beren._

"_Her fight will be of a different kind. Your child need not steal from Morgoth's crown."_

"_Still, I present her with my sword, which I shall entrust to you until such time as she is ready to use it.", Beren continued, pulling his sword off of his belt and handing it to the older man._

"_And I give her this book, which I have begun to write, and this necklace, which I have enchanted for her protection.", the woman added, passing the gifts to the newcomer._

"_I am sure that they will prove most useful in the trials ahead, whatever they may be."_

"_So you do not know of her destiny then, Greybeard?", asked the woman._

"_Not even I, one of the Maiar of which you are descended from, Lady."_

_The woman nodded her head solemnly and held her child close for one last time, before passing her to the old man. Her husband stretched out a hand to stroke the top of the child's head as she was passed between the two._

_Greybeard looked down at the child with curiosity. She looked no different from any mortal babe he had seen. Except, of course, for her fiery red hair. How had she come by her looks? Both her parents had dark hair, common to these parts. Perhaps it was a kiss of the Valar – an endowment to allow her to stand out amongst the blur of battles. Or more grimly, a reminder of the red blood that would mark her future. The old man put the thoughts aside, they would be of no use. There were grieving parents. And the child was far from grown._

_The woman grasped her husband's hand tightly for support as the old man laid his free hand on her shoulder, "You will see her again. I swear it."_

"_An oath from a wizard is not idly broken. I thank you, Olórin. I see that you, too, will have a great part in all of this. Guide her and do not let her forget her past."_

"_You have my assurance, Lady.", the old man answered, bowing slightly._

_Beren stood silent, watching the exchange between the two mythical persons. His wife had given up her immortality to be with him, and now she gave up her only daughter. Their son, Dior, was half grown and eager to leave as well. Oftentimes he wondered if she would have been happier if they had never met that day in the forests, so long ago._

_Greybeard turned away from the couple and returned to his horse, child on his arm and gifts stowed within his robes. He did not look back at the pair. There would be time for looking back later, now was not such a time._

_The woman forced her gaze away from the retreating form of Olórin and looked instead to her husband, Beren._

"_I am sorry, my Tinúviel. This might not have been…", he began._

"_Do not say such things. We will see her again. There is nothing to repent, my love.", she interrupted, clasping his hand firmly and pulling him into an embrace._

_It was not her small child she worried about. The wizard would fall. She had seen it in many dreams. There would be fire and smoke. What if the wizard did not survive the fiery embrace of the Balrog? What then? The fate of this world rested just as much on him as it did on her daughter. And there would be others as well. Small creatures. An elf, a dwarf. Men._

_She closed her eyes. This future was millennia away and she had not the heart to tell Beren._

* * *

I woke up, burning, from the dream. I had seen the woman and her husband before. But this old man, this Greybeard, he was a new addition to a sequence of dreams that had been plaguing me for years. _Maybe I should see a shrink for this. I'm sure they deal with crazies who dream of medieval families splitting up all the time._ I rolled over impatiently looking at the clock. 5:32 am. Still a little early yet. I pulled myself out of bed, knowing well enough that I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep within the next hour.

Better not waste time. I could still get an early morning run in before going to work. Wednesdays were the worst day of the week. The weekend's in sight, but not quite touchable yet. Still three more days… Not that I hated my job. Not at all. Being a high school gym teacher had been my dream since I had been in high school. And, most days, it was terrific. The kids were really energetic and eager to learn. And, unlike most of my co-workers, I hardly had to grade a paper. Just the occasional quiz on health issues or game rules. No essays or research papers.

I urged my carcass out of bed and into the running gear I kept beside my bed. Well trodden shoes. Loose shorts. Tight-fitting tank. iPod strapped to my arm and plugged into my ears. This is as good as it gets at 5:40 in the morning.

I left my apartment just as the first sun fluttered through the open blinds to light up my living room. Keys in hand, I crept down the corridor to the elevator. Ten floors down to the ground. Little red numbers counted off each neighborhood I descended past.

I was the only occupant in the building's gym that morning. All the other residents probably had other things to do before seven in the morning. Like sleep. Next to their significant-others. A twinge of bitterness reverberated through me. I'd been single for years now. And for good reason, I suppose. I filled up my time with work and activities, made excuses, anything to keep me away from it all. I saw what happened when people fell in love: it would be wonderful for anywhere between a month and a year. And then priorities would gradually shift. That new promotion, the new receptionist at the office, some new hobby.

I scissored my legs back and forth on the treadmill, running at a steady pace but going nowhere. I was good at running. I'd go for half an hour every morning to warm up for the day. Nothing better than a good run to get the blood moving in your legs and work up an appetite for breakfast.

This was better than spending a lazy Tuesday morning in bed. With someone. At least I was accomplishing something more than an extra hour of sleep.

Left, right, left, right. The predictable momentum almost put me to sleep. I wondered what it would be like to run on an open trail. Growing up in the city didn't offer a lot in landscape variety. Just streets, subways, and office buildings. Everywhere. I cringed to think of what the land would have looked like before the city was built. It must have been beautiful.

* * *

I awoke to the smell of warm grass. Alive, sweet, and still carrying the smell of winter. Traces of decayed leaves were scattered through the open plain at random. It was the third morning that I had slept outside. Not strange for a soldier.

Strange when the condition of my excursion was exile. Exiled for trying to defend my sister from the vile lust of that wretched Wormtongue. The scum had been my uncle's counselor for less than a year, yet he had an unnatural hold on my uncle. Underneath his influence, Théoden had grown old and weak. Barely able to defend the space between his toes, he was charged with maintaining the defense of the Riddermark.

And under Wormtongue's influence, he had exiled me. I suppose the slimy man had thought me a threat. I was. I loathed the greasy-haired, pale-skinned, slouched man who hid behind ugly words and a thick fur cloak. I had no respect for him and had questioned each and every one of his decisions since he arrived.

And if he so much as touched Éowyn, I would gut him alive with no regrets.

I heard movement around me. One of the men was feeding the night's fire to make breakfast. Good. There were 120 men to feed – an entire eored. It was tradition that when a Marshall was banished that his entire eored should join him. I was lucky that my men were so loyal. As a high-ranking member of the Royal Family, my disgrace was greater. If any of us were caught near Edoras, we would face certain death.

I was caught between the duty to protect my men and the duty to protect my uncle and sister. If I heard anything from Edoras contrary to their safety, I would ride there immediately.

I stretched out my legs under the coarse field blanket, feeling the rub of the rough ground beneath me. Pathetic as it was for a soldier to admit, I missed my bed in Meduseld, the Golden Hall. I had slept on open ground far more often than in a safe bed. But such were these times. If the exile continued much longer, my men and I would have to make permanent lodging somewhere and store up food for winter.

What luck, then, that we had been banished from our home in the springtime!


	2. Chapter 2

I sorted through my mail after a stressful day at work. Most of it was ad mail, asking me to buy high-priced junk. A letter concerning an increase in taxes, a utilities bill. And a green parchment envelope.

I assumed that it was a wedding invitation from a long-lost coworker, so I shuffled it under the pile to be looked at later. The utilities bill was much more pressing. If tomorrow wasn't pay day, then I might have had a problem. I was good at flying by the seat of my pants when it came to my finances.

I stuffed the mail into the side pocket of my purse before hurrying up the lobby steps to the elevator. Once inside, I hit the button for the sixth floor and watched as the red numbers clicked by.

Once inside my apartment, I crumpled into a couch and put my feet up on my coffee table. Newspapers, books, and marking were piled around the room on the furniture. The mail sitting in my purse was forgotten for the moment. _Fuck this, I'll mark those papers later. Just a quick nap._

* * *

_The grey wizard rode hard through the forest, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the grieving couple. As his horse galloped further away, his grip on the child in his right arm loosened. He had been afraid that he would turn back and give in to his heart. Lúthien had already experienced so much grief._

_If this was for the best, he would trust to the wisdom of the Valar. It was probably best to part the child from her mother before she grew too attached. If she was to be raised elsewhere, it would be better if she knew nothing of this world. Petty justifications._

_The Valar had allowed Lúthien exit from the Halls of Mandos in exchange for her immortality. There had never been mention of this. Her only daughter. And he was charged with transporting her between worlds. The wizard would forever owe a debt to Lúthien Tinúviel and her mortal husband, Beren. All of Middle Earth would owe them a debt before the end of the Third Age._

* * *

Again I had dreamed of that strange place. Middle Earth. The woman and her husband were an enigma, as was the grey wizard who had taken their child. He had not wanted to take the woman's baby, but he still felt the guilt just as acutely. Did these people, these Valar, not take accountability for their actions? And why did they need a baby to fight a war that would not happen for centuries?

It was not a riddle worth pondering too long. I would never go to Middle Earth, or meet its strange inhabitants, with their ridiculous names. They sounded like characters from one of those Japanese video games my students were always bringing to class. I was scarcely ten years older than the kids I taught, yet the generational gap was more pronounced than the gap between myself and those ten years older than me.

Thinking of my students reminded me of the stack of health reports I had to mark tonight. They _had_ to get done. I had a reputation for being a slow marker that had reached the ears of the school principal. She'd been critical, chiding me on efficiency and punctuality, "how can you expect students to hand thing sin on time when you don't demonstrate the same expediency in returning their assignments?"

Truth be told, marking was just dull. I had the time and I had the energy, but I hated looking at page after page of the same material, the same template, and the same things to look for. Damn the curriculum. If it wasn't for essay requirements, I would give every assignment as a multiple choice test and have them marked by a machine.

Grumbling, I tugged the stack of reports out of my bag and set them down on my coffee table. I retrieved a green pen and began to read through the papers, one by one.

* * *

A line of Rohirrim rode steadily ahead of me. I preferred to ride behind my men when we were journeying over the open plain. Not out of cowardice. Just the opposite – away from battle, the majority of enemies attack from behind. Orcs cared nothing for honour, only for brute strategy.

"Éomer!", called Hammwen from ahead.

"What is it?", I yelled, my voice muffled by the steady pounding of hooves on rocky ground.

"A party of Uruk-hai far ahead. They haven't sighted us yet. They're moving fast."

I urged Firefoot to the front of the eored to gain a better vantage. Sure enough, a large cluster of black dots were running in the distance. They were on a tight mission. Uruk-hai seldom traveled over open plain in the daylight. Whatever their purpose, it did not bode well for the Mark.

"We'll attack under cover of nightfall. With any luck, they'll stop to rest.", I ordered.

* * *

I held the green envelope in my hands, inspecting it carefully. The flap was trimmed with gold and my address was embossed in gold on the front.

_Celestina Petrovna_

_Home #1041_

_52nd house on West Dundas St._

_Toronto, Ontario_

I rarely went by my given name. Celestina was the kind of name you gave to a princess, or an angel. Not to a gym teacher in Toronto. Since childhood, I'd been called Celeste by preference. If this was a wedding invitation, it was from some distant relative.

When I opened the envelope and read the first line of the enclosed letter, I found that it was not, indeed, a wedding invitation.

_Lady Celestina,_

_Your presence is required immediately. You are not, as you have been raised to believe, just the adopted child of Anita and Mikhail Petrovna. Your parents were of the highest royalty in the realm of Middle Earth: Beren, prince of mortals; and Lúthien, princess of elvenkind._

_As their second child and only daughter, you were promised to the Valar at birth in exchange for their place in the Valinor. You will meet with them once your task, and your life, is complete. You were born to lead the free peoples of Rohan into victory. A war greater and more terrible than any that has besieged this land is drawing nearer._

_As the daughter of Beren and Lúthien, you are required by birthright to come to Middle Earth and fight. I, Gandalf the White, whom you may know as Olórin, will retrieve you at midnight tonight. Any __farewells to the people in this realm should be done before said time._

_As token to your parentage, I have included a gift from your mother. Inside the crystal vial is a single drop of potion that will cure any wound when drunk by an afflicted person. It will not revive the dead. When worn around your neck, the vial will glow purple when you have met your match. History will be repeated once this happens._

_Now is not the time for carelessness._

_Gandalf the White_

Disbelievingly, I pried open the envelope a little further. Inside was a small transparent crystal, the size of my smallest fingernail. As I picked it up, a chain as fine as a human hair followed it, the links locking into hold as I lifted. There was no clasp.

"A necklace that you cannot wear," I commented dryly.

I turned to the mirror on the wall behind my couch and held the crystal up to my throat and draped the chain around my shoulders to see what the necklace would have looked like.

When I tried to pull the charm away, it held fast around my neck. I pulled a little harder, thinking it was caught in my hair. The chain cut into my neck. I would the chain around, looking for the snag. Instead, I found that it formed a seamless circle around my throat.

I was too annoyed to figure out the trick to this. Someone was obviously prank mailing me and I didn't have the patience for it. Only – there was mention of Olórin the wizard. No prank mailer could have known that. I contemplated whether or not the letter was real. I was sure that I hadn't told anyone about the dreams.

Dreams that were growing more frequent and more detailed. People who had previously been shadows had become sorrowful characters. Lúthien. Beren. If they were my parents, then I was the red-headed child they had given away.

In half a second, the whole scene formed a picture in my mind. I was the child. They had been my parents. The Valar. The necklace.

But wasn't there a book also? And some kind of fight that I was supposed to undertake? I was a gym teacher, a runner, a brown belt in karate – but not a soldier. I rode horses on my weekends – I'd never held anything sharper than the blunted foils used in the fencing classes I'd taken when I was a teenager. And I didn't lead anyone. At least not my own age.

My God, this was stupid. It was 9:00 already and my stomach was objecting to not having eaten since lunch. With a grunt, I moved into my apartment's kitchen to resurrect last night's leftover Chinese.

* * *

We surrounded the Uruk-hai at nightfall, taking them by surprise. We speared as many as we could from a distance, picking off any strays before swooping in on horseback, swords drawn. We lost two riders. These were brute creatures. They pillaged, burnt, and killed indiscriminately.

We left none alive, knowing that they would have given us the same courtesy. When we were finished, we piled the bodies into a heap and set it ablaze. It was the only way to dispose of the filth.


	3. Chapter 3

This world was one of the strangest I'd ever seen. Men everywhere. Crowding the streets. There was hardly room to draw a clean breath. Everything was decorated. Lights and colours splashed across every available surface. Intricate, yet tasteless, decoration.

A man sat on a street corner, slumped and quiet. His face was lined like crumpled parchment. I approached him to ask for directions.

"How do I get to Dundas St.?" I asked.

"Dundas? Do I look like a map fella?" the man answered.

"I am merely asking for directions. Will you oblige me, sir?"

The man laughed and pulled an arm from his cloak. He pointed left. "Thataway three blocks and up. You get to it no problem."

"Thank you, good sir. But what are these blocks you speak of?"

The man let out a hoarse laugh and shook his head, wheezing. "Country fella! Intersections – where streets meet," he explained.

"Ahh," I said, sighing, "thank you again."

The man grunted loudly as I was turning to leave. I turned to see him outstretching a hand to me. "I s'not free," he said.

I tossed the man a gold coin and set out in the direction he had pointed. Whether the money would be of any use to him outside Middle Earth was questionable. Most of the people I'd seen here had developed a system of writing figures down on paper and exchanging them. I supposed it was a record of who owed whom. Strange, very strange.

Above me, the sky was darkening. It would be a miracle if I reached 52 Dundas St. before midnight. I shuffled my legs faster in the direction the beggar had pointed.

* * *

I hated the feeling in my gut after a battle. The murky conflict between victory and guilt. My body felt cloven in two. Part of me wanted to cheer that our lands were free, the other wanted to turn and retch at the blood of my comrades and my enemies.

Guilt – even for killing Uruk-hai. Not a quality valued by the Rohirrim. If Gamling, Elfhelm, any of the other marshals knew of this weakness… if Théoden knew. Théoden… the thought of my uncle pained me momentarily. He had not signed the paper attesting to my exile. Oh yes, his hand may have grasped the quill that scratched the parchment's surface, but he did not sign his name knowingly. I doubted the King even had the strength of mind to read what he had signed.

I would have Grima's head if he strayed from Edoras, or if I had the chance to return. Angry as I was, I knew that I was not the one being punished. My uncle sat, chained by Wormtongue's witchcraft while my sister was imprisoned in Meduseld, bound by duty to the King. And ugly, twisted, sick Grima held all of our keys.

I clenched and unclenched my fists, forcing back the anger in my heart and the uneasiness in my gut.

* * *

It'd been a long night and all I wanted to do was take off my work clothes and tumble into bed. I'd prolonged going to bed, waiting up instead. It had felt like something was going to happen in just a few more moments.

That crazy letter was keeping me awake. And for no good reason. It had probably been sent by one of my students. Or someone in the building with a strange sense of humour. And yet I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Funny how the most ridiculous things can keep you awake late into the night. Wondering if you'd locked the car, worrying about bills, wishing you'd told someone that you'd loved them. After Jeff, my college boyfriend, died in a car accident, I sat in my bed, legs crossed, into the wee hours of the morning. I'd hated myself that night and regretted never admitting how much I had cared for him. That night had been five long years ago: my second year of college.

A scuffle outside my front door woke me from my thoughts. _Maybe this is what I've been waiting for._ It sounded like someone was stamping furiously on my welcome mat. It was almost midnight – why would anyone be outside my doorstep? An answer echoed in my head. An answer which I refused to acknowledge. The probability of the letter being genuine was far too slim.

Still, I had to see what the stomping was. I pulled myself up from my bed. The covers underneath me dimpled from my movement. I paused a moment to smooth them over. I spent several minutes each morning meticulously making my bed and I wouldn't have it looking ruined when I hadn't even slept in it.

When I opened my door I was surprised to see a man as old as time. He wore a sooty grey coat that blended into his dirty grey beard. His face was ruddy: he looked like he'd been running.

"Can I help you?", I asked automatically. I wondered if the man was connected to the feelings of anticipation I'd had earlier.

"If you are Celestina Petrovna, then you most certainly can. And will," he answered, peering through the doorway into my apartment.

"I am, but I don't understand why you're calling so late."

"Did you not get the letter?"

"Letter," I said slowly, trying to choose my words carefully so that I would not betray too much information to the stranger. If he had no connection to the strange letter I'd received, I did not want him to presume that he did and enter my house. "Which letter?"

"It was in a green envelope. Addressed to Lady Celestina, daughter of Lúthien and Beren. I am Gandalf the White. Are you not Celestina Petrovna?", the strange man asked.

I decided that the man looked more like a homeless person than an emissary from a distant land. But he had my name right – unfortunately – as I hated to be called Celestina. And he knew about the letter I'd been sent. Perhaps he was the prankster? Unlikely. He didn't look like he could afford to orchestrate such a prank. But he did look like he could use a meal. And he could likely give me an idea as to who had sent the letter. _Gandalf the White – there was nothing white to him, except perhaps the whites of his eyes._

"My name is Celestina Petrovna. But please, call me Celeste. And come inside, you look hungry," I said.

"I haven't the time to tarry here long for meals or merrymaking," he said, stepping inside, "I have come to bring you to your destiny. We have ten minutes before we must leave."

"Leave? I can't leave…"

"You must, you have no choice, Lady. Did you not bother to read the letter?"

"Yes, but…"

"I have no time to explain everything again. There is never enough time for these sorts of things! Thousands of years of waiting, but when the moment comes, it is so slight: a needle's eye in the great fabric of time. An eye we must pass through quickly if we are to dodge into the other side before the thread runs out," Gandalf said. He threw up his arms, drawing out a large satchel. I caught the glint of metal under his robes before they fell back down.

He had a sword. The crazed, homeless wizard had a sword. That settled it – wherever he was taking me, I'd be bringing along my own set of knives. This 'other side' would no doubt be filled with people of his sort. Where did I put my pepper spray?

"Pack clothes and blankets," he said, throwing me the satchel as I rummaged through my purse, looking for pepper spray.

Finding it, I dropped it in and paused, waiting for further instruction. There was no way that I would be able to fit more than one set of clothes in this little bag, let alone bedding.

"Go child. Eight minutes. You will be able to fit all that you need!!" he cried, waving me into my bedroom.

Dazed, I began throwing assorted clothes into the bag. It never filled. In a moment, I'd emptied my closet. I moved to my drawers and began to throw underwear, bras, and socks into the bag. Everything that I owned. Why not? It fit. The man was crazy. Hell, I was crazy to be wondering if maybe, just maybe, he was the Olórin from my dreams.

I pulled the blanket right off my bed, messing the sheets. It went into the bag, along with blankets from my closet. Looking around for anything potentially useful, I threw in my first aid kit as well. _If the wizard had a sword, it might be necessary._

Beginning to think more clearly, I dashed into the kitchen and managed to throw a set of cooking knives into the bag before Gandalf caught my arm and pulled me back into the living room.

In the open space between my couches, a white light was beginning to shine. Gandalf was gesturing towards it meaningfully.

"Get in. There is no more time."

"But wait…"

"You cannot wait. The Valar have waited for millennia."

The white light was growing larger, expanding violently. I felt my body being pulled into it. There was one thing I had to ask before I left, "Gandalf! Are you Olórin?"

My foot was caught in the light. It writhed and twisted around my ankle, anchoring me and pulling me in. Holding the satchel in my right hand, I grasped my coffee table with my left, trying to hold onto my living room.

The other foot was caught. The light was pulling me upwards into the centre of the room. I clawed at the table, grabbing hold of only paper. _The letter!_ I looked urgently to Gandalf.

"Yes, now go!", he cried out. _He wasn't going with me?_

Obediently, I let go of the table as it started to slide into the light with me. The light had climbed to my waist and, in one gentle tug, had pulled me away from my living room. The couches, the tables, the walls, the floor, Gandalf… everything vanished in a swirl of white mist.


	4. Chapter 4

"Riders of Rohan, what news from the Mark?" someone yelled out from behind a group of boulders. I dug my left leg into Firefoot's side and tugged his reins in the same direction. He turned quickly and the riders behind followed suit.

A man stepped out from behind the rocks, accompanied by an elf and a dwarf. The man, dressed in a green cloak and breeches, looked to be a ranger. The other two were clad in grey and green. Traveling garb. In its present state, Rohan was not the place to be passing through on leisure.

"Circle them!" I called to my eored. I slowed Firefoot so that he was mere feet from the three. The other riders gathered to my right and left, creating a tightening circle around the strangers. On cue, each rider drew his spear so that, no matter which way he looked, the men saw spear tips all around.

"What business does an Elf, a man and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!" I ordered.

Sensing I was the leader, the strangers turned to face me. The dwarf was the first to speak, "Give me your name, Horsemaster, and I shall give you mine."

His insolence was astonishing. The short creature was surrounded by armed Eorlingas. I handed my spear to the rider next to me and stepped down from Firefoot. The man next to him rested a hand on his shoulder to restrain him. No matter, if the dwarf wanted to be rude to me, I would give him the same. "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," I spat.

The elf drew his bow instantly and aimed an arrow at my head. "You would die before your stroke fell!"

Defensively, my men all brought their spears closer to the three. Neither the elf nor the dwarf stood any chance against so many riders.

After a pause, the ranger pulled down the elf's arm and spoke, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glóin and Legolas of the Woodland realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your King."

He sounded serious – who was he to know that all ties of friendship in the Mark had become mere jests? And Théoden was no longer a ruling king. He only signed the orders Grima provided.

"Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," I said, pulling off my helmet. My men relaxed their spears. "Not even his own kin."

The small group regarded me more solemnly. The dwarf looked down at the ground, seemingly ashamed of taunting me. I continued, "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. And for that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are no spies," Aragorn asserted, "we track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends captive."

I immediately felt a pang of pity for the man. To have someone close to you in captivity… I thought then of Éowyn and chose my next words carefully, blunt was best. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."

The dwarf was unable to hold his silence any longer and shouted out, "But there were two hobbits. Did you see two hobbits with them?"

Hobbit? What on earth was a hobbit? Perhaps they were native to the lands of the south, in the same territory as the Easterlings.

The man named Aragorn clarified, "they would be small – only children to your eyes."

Halflings then. I was vaguely familiar with them and had heard tales of the little folk who lived in the remote parts of Eriador, beyond the village of Bree. But I had seen none. Then again, the battle had taken place at night and one of my men could have easily mistaken one of them for a small orc. Honesty was again best, "We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them." To illustrate this, I pointed to the smoldering pile my men had left from last night.

"Dead?", asked the dwarf.

I had no answer for him except for, "I am sorry." I doubted their friends were in the pile, but couldn't think of any way they could have escaped the Uruk-hai.

The dwarf looked noticeably grief-stricken. The elf put a hand on his arm to comfort him. Strange, I'd never seen this kind of friendship between the two races. From what I'd been told, elves rarely dealt with dwarves and considered them inferior and vice versa.

Pitying the odd trio, I whistled for the two horses whose riders we'd lost last night, "Hasufel! Arod!" If they managed to share at least one horse, the group would travel much faster. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell."

I replaced my helmet and mounted Firefoot again, giving the small group some last words of advice, "Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope, it has forsaken these lands."

Just as I was about to lead my eored off and away from last night's battle, I heard cursing coming from behind the boulders.

"Was there another in your company?" I asked Aragorn.

"No," he said quickly, looking as surprised as I was.

I urged Firefoot forward, towards the boulders, hoping to get a glance of what lay behind the rocks.

* * *

I was definitely far from my living room. Instead, I was in a great white hall. It looked to be the belly of a fantastical castle, but I couldn't be sure as I was somewhere inside. The walls looked to be made of marble blocks and the floor was tiled in a similar stone. Strangely, I found myself wanting to take off my shoes to feel if the stone was cool.

Someone laughed behind me, "go ahead, be comfortable, Lady."

I turned to see a tall, aquiline woman in a turquoise dress. She had the impossible beauty of an actress from a historical epic. Beautiful and medieval, but looking impossibly clean and wearing attire much too complex for that era.

I decided that she was no threat and carefully pulled off my running shoes and socks. The marble was as cool as I had imagined.

"You are closer than you think to guessing who I am," the woman said, "I am Varda, called Elbereth by the Sindar. I am one of the Valar, the gods of this world. Your grandmother was of the Maiar, the lesser gods."

My grandmother? Which one? Neither of my grandmothers seemed godly at all. In fact, my father's mother was in a hospital somewhere in Cleveland.

"Melian, mother of Lúthien, your birth mother. Your mortal parents who raised you in the world from whence you came are of no consequence here."

I took umbrage at that, "my parents may not be 'otherworldly' but they most certainly…"

"I have no doubt that you cared for them very much, but you must accept that their role in this story was only to raise you into adulthood safely," Varda said softly, then added, "they loved you very much. But they are not your parents. Have you had the dreams of Lúthien and Beren?"

"You sent those dreams?" I asked, not believing her. Then again, she was able to read my thoughts, so why would she be unable to send me dreams.

"I am a Valar, it is in my power. But you have nothing to fear from me. My purpose here is to instruct you on your task. You have been kept safe for millennia before you were given to your foster parents. Now that the Third Age of this world is drawing to a close, you have been summoned.

"The people of Rohan have a King, but he is weak and his rule is failing. Olórin will remove him from his spell, but he will still need guidance. His nephew and heir is blinded by his loyalty to his king and cannot tell him what he needs to hear. There is a great battle ahead for the people of Rohan, and then there is the war. Théoden-king cannot see past the battle.

"And it is a war that Middle Earth is doomed to lose if its kingdoms do not unite against Sauron."

"Sauron?" I asked.

"He was one of the Maiar, akin to your grandmother. But he fell into darkness under the influence of Morgoth, who was once Valar-kind." Cautiously, she added, "Morgoth was the brother of my husband, Manwë. But their relation is no more."

"Wait, if this Sauron guy is one of you god people, why aren't you taking care of him? Why leave him to Rohan?" I asked.

"Because Sauron has legions of men and orcs beneath him, as well as a wizard in his ally. His fight is against Middle Earth, with which we may not interfere with lightly. He is no longer like us. He has a mind of destruction and of metal. And this is not the war of Rohan. It is the war of all the free peoples of Middle Earth. Of men, and elves, and dwarves.

"You, Lady Celestina, are half human, part elf, and part maia, making you part of the race of half-elven. The half-elven are traditionally given the choice of whether to continue their lives as men or as elves. I now give you that choice."

"Not to be rude, but I'm not quite sure what an elf is," I answered.

Varda laughed, "of course. The Eldar are much like humans, but are immortal. They may be killed in battle or fade from grief. Unlike humans, whose spirits leave this world when they die, elvish souls go over the sea to Valinor, where they live for eternity. It is much like your heaven. Elves are fairer and wiser than men, but they do not have the same emotions that humans feel. They are far more neutral-minded."

I thought about the choice for a moment. Immortality and wisdom would be an advantage if I was to be in a war. But I didn't want to be neutral if a world was at stake.

"Elf," I decided.

"Very well then. May you not regret your choice. I send you with the blessings of the Valar and with the gift of languages."

With Varda's last words, the world of white disappeared and I tumbled through the dark. Wind rushed at me, and I closed my eyes from the sting.

I landed hard on a boulder. With my bottom sore from the impact, I closed my eyes and stood up. "Fucking shit!" I yelled. I was standing next to a group of rocks in the middle of a plain with no buildings in sight. With no shoes. The grass prickled against the soles of my feet uncomfortably.

Judging from the noise I heard from behind the rocks, I wasn't alone. Fearing to be confronted by Sauron and his allies, I hid in a crevice of the rock, holding my bag to my chest and looking around furtively. I heard footsteps approaching.

Around my neck, the crystal in my necklace began to glow purple.


	5. Chapter 5

Whoever was hiding behind the boulder had gone quiet. He must have heard my approach. I dismounted Firefoot again so that I could move more quietly. The edge of the boulder was near. Taking a chance, I leapt out, spinning to face the rock.

A woman jumped out of a nook in the rock, brandishing a small knife. She held her ground in front of me, squaring her shoulders defensively.

"I am Éomer of Rohan. Who are you, lady?" I asked her.

"Rohan?" she repeated, lowering her knife, "that's not so bad then. I was sent to join the Rohirrim."

"Sent?" I asked, taking a closer look at her. She was attractive: dangerously so, with such a large group of men nearby. She had dark red hair, a colour I'd never seen on anyone not Dwarven-kind. Grey eyes that were alert, but disoriented. It was clear that she had never been here before. She was dressed strangely, in the fashion of a man, but in material I'd never seen before. And, just poking out of her hair, were the distinct tips of elven ears. An elleth.

"My name is Celeste. And yes I was sent. Or rather, a Valar woman put me here", she said, adding, "her name was Varda if that helps. Do you know her?"

Varda! Elbereth! This elleth was most certainly not from the Riddermark. Perhaps the ranger, Aragorn, might know of her history. "Follow me," I said, returning to the group.

Celeste put her knife back into her bag and walked behind me. When we rounded the boulder, her eyes widened. She obviously hadn't expected a group of over a hundred men on horseback.

* * *

Éomer returned from behind the boulder, unharmed. Whoever had stowed behind the rock had not been a threat. Behind him was the newcomer. An elleth with reddened hair. I felt my heart snap in her direction. The hand I had on Gimli's shoulder quivered slightly. I looked at her more carefully, taking care not to stare. Around her neck, I saw a crystal necklace. It was elven-made, I was sure. Strangely, the crystal was glowing purple, but fading quickly.

"Aragorn," said Éomer, "the she-elf claims to have been sent by Elbereth to Rohan."

"Elbereth?" asked Aragorn, "she was sent by the Valar?"

"I guess it doesn't happen often around here," the elleth mumbled, fumbling in her bag. "Here," she began, "I have a letter from Gandalf. It might help to explain why I'm here better than I can."

"Gandalf? He must have written it before he fell," Aragorn whispered, taking the letter from the elleth.

"_Lady Celestina_," he began, "that is your name?"

"Yes, but please call me Celeste. Not 'lady,' it sounds too stuffy for me," she answered.

"_Your presence is required immediately_," Aragorn read, "_you are not, as you have been raised to believe, just the adopted child of Anita and Mikhail Petrovna. Your parents were of the highest royalty in the realm of Middle Earth: Beren, prince of mortals; and Lúthien, princess of elvenkind._"

The daughter of Beren and Lúthien! There had been tales written of their disappeared daughter, who would someday return to Middle Earth. Lúthien's blood would help to explain the elleth's hair. If she was part Maia, it was possible for her to have the reddened hair which did not come naturally to elves or men.

"_As their second child and only daughter, you were promised to the Valar at birth in exchange for their place in the Valinor. You will meet with them once your task, and your life, is complete. You were born __to lead the free peoples of Rohan into victory. A war greater and more terrible than any that has besieged this land is drawing nearer._

"_As the daughter of Beren and Lúthien, you are required by birthright to come to Middle Earth and fight. I, Gandalf the White, whom you may know as Olórin, will retrieve you at midnight tonight. Any farewells to the people in this realm should be done before said time._

"_As token to your parentage, I have included a gift from your mother. Inside the crystal vial is a single drop of potion that will cure any wound when drunk by an afflicted person. It will not revive the dead. When worn around your neck, the vial will glow purple when you have met your match. History will be repeated once this happens._

"_Now is not the time for carelessness_," Aragorn finished, slowly putting the letter down.

"Is it genuine?" asked Éomer.

"I recognize Gandalf's hand," said Aragorn, "and the necklace she wears around her neck confirms the letter. It's elven-made, but clear at the moment."

Perhaps I was the only one that noticed that just moments ago, the necklace had glowed purple. Excitement pounded through me. She had met her match. And I was the only elf amidst the crowd of men. _History will be repeated once this happens._ Perhaps the history the letter spoke of was when Melian the Maia fell in love with Thingol, the elven-king of Doriath. Celeste was part Maia and I was the prince of Mirkwood – near to where Doriath once was.

"Welcome to Middle Earth," I said to her, "I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and that is Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"You are… an elf then?" Celeste asked slowly.

"Yes, I am a Sindar elf," I answered.

"There's different kinds?" she asked awkwardly.

Though beautiful, she knew nothing of how Middle Earth operated. I tried my best not to think her stupid, but decided that explaining the sundering of the elves would be better some other time.

Aragorn answered for me, "there are, but it is too complicated to explain presently. Suffice it to say, you are a Sindar elf."

Éomer mounted his horse and pulled his helmet on, "this eored must move. We cannot tarry else Wormtongue's spies catch sight of us. Who then should the she-elf travel with?"

"Gandalf's letter says that she is tied to Rohan, and your men have more horses. You can accommodate a woman far more easily than the three of us. And you might possibly have a spare pair of boots, as the lady has none," Aragorn suggested.

I opened my mouth to protest. Should she not ride with us? The Rohirrim might ride endlessly for months. Should the daughter of Beren and Lúthien not ride in more worthy company than that of banished horsemen? But it would do no good to argue. Aragorn had already spoken for the three of us.

"Where are your boots, lassie?" asked Gimli.

"I left them behind when I was with Varda," Celeste explained, blushing.

Whyever had she done that? There was no end to her peculiarities. But I was intrigued.

* * *

They wanted a she-elf princess who left her shoes in the halls of the Valar to accompany banished horsemen through Rohan? Was the ranger mad? Still, he was right. She needed boots, and there would be some to be found amongst the riders. And with one of the horses I had lent the group already needing to be shared, it would be impractical to give them the added burden of a woman.

And there was the added problem of her femininity. One woman amongst 120 riders did not bode well for keeping a group of men together and focused.

"Can you ride?" I asked her.

"I've learned how to, yes," she answered, "and I can use a sword well enough."

She had potential then. But she'd still have to prove herself. I wouldn't be convinced that she wasn't a burden until I saw her riding and fighting alongside the men. Which would never happen. War was for men. She might have been brave with her knife behind the boulder, but when an orc ran at her, she would flee.

I rode towards one of the smaller men and called out, "Dunheld, lend the lady your second pair of boots and some socks."

"I already have socks, thank you," Celeste yelled out, pulling some from her bag.

Strange woman. She sat down on the ground and began pulling the socks over her bare feet. I noticed with interest that she had blue toenails. Perhaps she'd dropped something heavy on her feet long ago. Dunheld tossed her his boots and she pulled them on over her leggings.

I couldn't help but notice that the pants she was wearing were tight enough to clearly show the shape of her thighs beneath the fabric. But I mustn't be admiring her now. I had to set an example for the rest of the eored and remain indifferent to the she-elf.

I brought Firefoot close to her and held out a hand for her to climb up behind me. Firefoot was the strongest of the horses and could easily bear the burden of another rider. Yet, when she pulled herself up, I found that she weighed almost nothing. _She was elf-kind after all_. Firefoot would hardly notice her presence.

"Farewell," I said to the three. To the Rohirrim, I shouted, "we ride North!"

I dug my legs into Firefoot's sides to get him to run. Behind me, Celeste tightened her grip on my waist, surprised at the sudden movement. As soon as Firefoot steadied, she relaxed quickly, taking her hands almost off of my back altogether. If she was uncomfortable, that was fair enough. She would grow even more uneasy when it came time for the eored to camp for the night.


	6. Chapter 6

I hadn't ridden a horse in years. Surprisingly, my balance was excellent and I was able to stay on Éomer's horse without having to grip him tightly. We'd been riding for several hours and I should have been exhausted. My elven physique was already beginning to serve me better than my human form. Around me, the other riders were beginning to show signs of fatigue. The horses, too, must be tired.

Soon enough, Éomer slowed his horse and signaled for the group to halt. Over a hundred horses skidded to a halt behind us.

"We break for the night. Make camp!" Éomer shouted to the men. He pulled back on his horse's reins and brought him to a stop.

"Can you dismount?" he asked me, turning backwards. It was the first time he'd spoken to me since I'd joined the group.

"So now you talk to me?" I answered, swinging my right leg over the horse's back and letting myself down easily.

Éomer followed suit, dismounting to stand beside me. On the ground, he was an impressive man, well over six feet tall and broad in the shoulders. "It is the first time you've spoken to me as well, Lady. Stay out of trouble while we set up camp. We will talk later once the men have eaten," he answered.

"Stay out of trouble? I've been getting into trouble all day," I commented.

"You can help cook supper, but try to keep out of the way of the men."

"Fine. But I'm a terrible cook," I said, walking away from Éomer. I headed towards a clearing where the riders were beginning to pitch tents and start campfires.

I squatted next to a fire pit beside the rider who'd lent me his spare boots. He was unpacking his saddlebags. He pulled out hard bread, a water skin and a small bag of powdered chicken stock.

"Hello," I said, announcing my presence, "I'd like to thank you for loaning me your boots. It was very kind of you."

"I do what the Marshall asks," he said, gesturing towards Éomer.

"All the same, I do appreciate it. Tramping through rocks and stiff grass in bare feet would make for an uncomfortable trip."

The man smiled, "I'm Dunheld, son of Bregheld. I've never met a she-elf before."

"Celeste. I'm probably nothing like any elleth you'll ever meet, then. I was raised as a human in a world much different from this one."

"Raised as a human? How is that possible? I understood that the daughter of Beren and Lúthien was Half-Elven, part Maiar even. Not human."

"You know of me?" I asked, surprised. I didn't think that the riders at the back of the circle could have heard Aragorn's reading of the letter.

"Word that Beren and Lúthien's daughter had come found it s way quickly through the men. And the story of Beren and Lúthien is familiar to us," Dunheld said, setting up a pot of water over the fire and sprinkling in the powdered chicken. He passed me a wooden spoon and I began to stir.

"Could you tell me the story then? I am ashamed not to know it," I asked.

He looked me in the eye for a moment, then began, "Your grandmother was Melian, one of the Maia. It is from her you likely inherited your hair. Reddened hair is common only to Dwarven-kind now. She fell in love with and wed Thingol, elven-king of Doriath. They had one daughter – Lúthien. She was said to be the most beautiful woman in Middle Earth, yet she was doomed to love a mortal man. Beren, a prince of men, came into Doriath and the two fell in love. Yet, to gain her father's approval, Beren was asked to take one of the Silmarils from Morgoth's crown as a bride-price."

"Morgoth – the fallen Valar?"

"Yes. Lúthien went with Beren and helped him. But Beren died during the quest. Lúthien brought him and the Silmaril back to Doriath and faded from grief shortly after. When she arrived in the Halls of Mandos, keeper of the souls of elves, she pleaded for the lives of her and Beren. The Valar took pity on her and granted her and Beren the lives of mortals. They would be permitted entry into the Valinor so long as Lúthien gave up her only daughter."

"Me?"

"Yes. And it was prophesized that she would fight evil in the last great war against evil. It was also said that she, too, would love a doomed soul and that history would be remade."

"Well then," I began, "I'm all for fighting evil, but I've already loved someone and they've already died, so I've done my part there."

"I'm sorry. Prophecies can come true in many ways. But I am a soldier. Better to ask a wizard about foreseen events. Or an elf-king."

"It was years ago," I said quietly. I stirred the soup some more. It was beginning to bubble and smelled of chicken and spices. "We have a similar soup where I'm from. We add pasta to it."

"Pasta?"

"Yes. Little pieces of flour, egg, and water, hardened into shapes. I could try to make you some someday, although I'm a terrible cook."

"I've never met a woman who couldn't cook. Then again, I've never met a red-haired she-elf dressed in tight men's clothes. My wife would enjoy meeting you."

"You have a wife then?" I asked, curious. Why wasn't she here also?

"Back in Edoras. Minding the baby, I reckon. I do hope to see her again. If we are exiled much longer, I suppose I could send for her and our son, wherever we settle."

"It is my turn to be sorry then," I said.

Dunheld shook his head while finding two bowls. As he ladled out soup, he said, "There is no need for sympathy in these parts. It's been a long time here since people have felt each other's pain. Now it's war and every man's in for himself and his own."

He passed me a bowl of the soup and a piece of the bread.

I accepted and dipped the bread into the soup to soften it. I mulled over his words for several minutes, silently comparing the war the Rohirrim were facing with the wars that plagued the world I had just come from. Mercenaries. Resource conflicts. Trade embargoes.

"It seems that our worlds are perhaps not so different."

* * *

Celeste had been talking with Dunheld for the duration of suppertime. The sun was plummeting into the horizon and many of the men were dodging into the shelter of their tents. This was likely the most discreet time to seek a few words with the lady before she, too, settled down for the night.

I approached Dunheld's campfire slowly, pausing to address the soldiers in my path as I went. When I reached Dunheld's side, the two were engaged in lively banter about the customs of Rohan.

"Sorry to interrupt," I began, "but I was hoping to have some words with the lady before she retired."

"Of course, Lord Éomer," Dunheld answered. To Celeste, he added, "if you'd like more friendly company, you can ride with me in the morn."

"If it is alright with Éomer, I would like to," she agreed.

Éomer; she called me by my name alone and not my title. And not Lord. Dunheld had picked up on it too and was looking at me uneasily. I decided not to make note of the breach in formality. She was new to our customs and, to be straight-forward, I liked that she called me Éomer. There was something to this strange she-elf. Something that had kept my tongue quiet for the better part of a day. Now would be the time to make up for conversation.

"Of course," I assented, making it clear that my attachment to the elleth was minimal. "If you're not too tired, I was hoping we could have that conversation you were lamenting about earlier."

"Alright. But is there a tent where I may change into something warmer for the night before we talk?" she asked.

"You can use mine," suggested Dunheld.

"Thank you," she said, picking up her bag and walking into Dunheld's tent.

"She didn't know anything about her parents or about the prophecy," Dunheld remarked quietly.

I didn't know why he was bothering to keep his voice so low. Celeste could probably still hear us. The tent fabric wasn't thick and elves had excellent hearing. "Did you tell her?"

"Of course. But I'm sure that a wizard could explain it better."

"If we return to Edoras, I shall send for Radagast the Brown."

Just then, Celeste emerged from the tent. She had changed into thick, black pants and a snug, long-sleeved blue shirt. In her arms, she carried a soft grey blanket, which she began to wrap around her shoulders.

"If you're ready, follow me," I said, standing up and leaving the warmth of Dunheld's fire.

Celeste followed me to my own tent, which was pitched on a low hill overlooking the clearing. The fire closest to it was unattended and had almost died out. I picked up a large stick that was resting on a log beside the fire and began poking at the embers.

Celeste felt around the ground and produced some dry grass and small twigs to throw on the fire. They caught flame immediately and lit some of the larger sticks left on the pile. The flames licked upwards and began to heat up the surrounding air. The elleth found a dry patch of earth and sat down, using a corner of her blanket to cushion her bottom.

"Dunheld mentioned that you had been exiled from Rohan," she began slowly. I could tell she was trying not to offend me while still getting at the point, "I was sent to aid Rohan, but if your riders are no longer a part of Rohan, should I not be here?"

I sighed and paused before beginning, "our King, Théoden, my uncle, is weak and under the influence of Saruman the White Wizard. Saruman, who dwells in Isengard, had been our ally for many years and recently sent Grima Wormtongue, an emissary, to Rohan's court in Edoras as an advisor to the king.

"Wormtongue, through means unknown to me, has gained control of the mind of the King." I looked over at Celeste, who regarded me with interest. "It sounds impossible, but Saruman has been sending his orcs to Rohan to attack our villages. There is talk now that he has even asked the wild men to the North to join him. I was there, at one of the orc attacks. My eored had arrived just in time to finish the battle.

"They'd attacked our best eored, led by the King's only son, Theodred. I found him, on his back in the mud, barely breathing and skewered through the stomach with a sword. I brought him back to the King's hall of Meduseld in Edoras. When he was safe in the care of healers, I approached the King to ask him to better defend Rohan from Saruman's pillages. Grima Wormtongue dismissed me from the hall and banished me from Rohan. The order was signed by Théoden, but it was not of his making, I am sure."

Gingerly, Celeste placed her left hand on my arm and stroked the fabric of my tunic. "Did your cousin survive?" she asked.

"I do not know. I was banished before the healers could tell whether he would live or die. And then there is the matter of Éowyn, my sister. Wormtongue lusts after her and without the protection of Théoden or myself, I fear for her safety."

Celeste said nothing for a time, but continued rubbing my forearm. She took the poker stick from my other hand and began to stoke the fire herself with her free hand. We both watched as sparks flew from the coals and the flames grew higher and hotter. Satisfied with the condition of the fire, she set down the poker and grasped my hand with both of her hands. "You're a powerful man, in both body and spirit," she said, working her fingers over my open palm.

"There are times when I do not feel it," I answered. Why had I said that? I was grateful that she was not showing me pity. I did not need pity, yet I was inviting it with every word I spoke.

"When I spoke with Varda, she said many things to me. She said that your uncle's rule was threatened and the Rohan was vulnerable," Celeste began, "but she did not say that it would fall. If Rohan was doomed, why send me? Why bring an outsider from another world to join the fight if the fight is an impossible one? I am confident that Théoden will regain his strength and that your family will be renewed."

I smiled. She was right and she had a way of keeping me from despair that did not invoke pity. I was conscious of the feel of her touch and of her hands on mine. The urge to reach out and take her into my arms overwhelmed my senses. Yet, I could not be so forward. Now was not the time or the place. And she was an elleth of high standing. The elvish prince we had just met was much more her suit. But I could not keep from bringing my other hand over hers and squeezing gently on her fingers.

"You must be tired. You can have my tent, I'd rather sleep by the fire and keep watch over the camp," I suggested.

"Are you sure? What if it rains?"

"Then I will join one of the other men," I answered, rising from the ground and reaching for my saddlebag. "Here, that blanket won't be warm enough. Take this," I said, passing my spare cloak to her. It wasn't as soft as the blanket she carried now, but it would no doubt be warmer.

"I don't need it. I have other blankets –"

"As warm as a Rohirric cloak? Take it, you'll need it."

Grumbling, she took the cloak from my outstretched hand and held it, bundled, in her arms. "Thank you," she murmured, walking towards my tent. She paused at the tent flap and turned back to me to say, "good night." Then, with a slap of heavy fabric, she disappeared from view.

"Good night," I whispered, poking at the fire and settling into a comfortable position for the night.


	7. Chapter 7

Gimli and I sat atop Arod, riding in the direction of Edoras. Gandalf was leading the way atop Shadowfax. Aragorn rode alongside Gimli and me on Hasufel. Surprisingly, I did not resent having to share a horse with the dwarf. His gruff mannerisms and blunt speech made for easy conversation. Despite this, I wanted to speak with Aragorn.

"Should we not break for the night?" I suggested. The sun was beginning to set and the horses would no doubt be tired. Especially Arod. While I was an easy burden for a horse, Gimli was no light rider.

"Aye. We are only hours from Edoras, but if we arrive at this hour, we will garner no welcome from the King," Aragorn agreed.

"The rocks ahead will provide some shelter," Gandalf assented, turning Shadowfax in that direction.

When we arrived, we tied to the horses to trees near a running stream where they drank thirstily. Aragorn made himself busy setting up a fire, while Gimli rummaged for food in Gandalf's saddlebags.

I crouched beside Aragorn, passing him sticks for the fire. "May I ask you something?" I questioned.

"Of course, my friend," he answered, lighting the tinder.

"When you first saw Arwen, how did you feel?"

Aragorn paused a moment, staring seriously into the fire. When he spoke, his voice was stained with longing, "I felt like I could never live without her. My heart emptied when I didn't see her and filled again when we were reunited. I loved her from that moment on." Changing his tone, he asked, "are you in love Legolas?"

"Celeste," I answered, "I've never wanted an elleth more. When I first saw her, it felt as if thunder shook through my fingers."

"She could then be your match."

"There's more. The jewel around her neck was glowing purple, just as the letter said it would when she met her match. Could I then be the doomed soul she will love?"

"I would not trust to the magic of a jewel, Legolas. You were not the only man present while it glowed. Her match could have been anyone, even the Dwarf," he chuckled.

"But I was the only elf there. Could history not repeat itself as the story of Thingol and Melian? I fit the prophecy as well as any."

"The trouble with prophecies is that they have a way of coming true in ways that none would expect. Do not try to fit a prophecy to your wishes. But do not give up either. If you feel in your heart that she is your match, then go to her as soon as you can. Do not wait until the world's ending, as I have."

I frowned; to despair was not like Aragorn. "You will see her again."

"I bid her to go over the sea to the Valinor where she would be safe."

"Safe from the war or safe from you?"

"Both," he answered, "Lord Elrond would not like to see his daughter wither away at the side of a mortal man."

"In my heart, I feel that she will not go."

"I hope, my friend, that you do not send me false hope," Aragorn whispered, warming his hands over the flames.

I squeezed his shoulder and rose to join Gimli.

Estel, the elves called him, meaning hope. Strange then that he gave it to others but kept none for himself. I wished him the best.

* * *

_The woman was lying on her deathbed. Her husband, Beren, had died days before. At her side was the only remaining person who loved her, her son Dior. He had chosen to be of elven-kind and hadn't aged a moment past maturity, although he was into his sixtieth year. He had his mother's dark hair and his father's fair face._

"_I don't have much longer in this world, my son," she murmured._

"_Do not say such things, mother," he said, clasping her hand tightly in his own._

"_You cannot expect an old woman to live forever. Not when she is mortal," L__ú__thien whispered, "but hush. Find the grey wizard and make sure that your sister's things are being kept safe."_

_Dior watched as his mother's eyes screwed shut as she gasped with pain. He picked up her frail body and held her tightly to him. "Mother!" he cried, feeling tears in his eyes._

"_I see the final battle for Middle Earth," the woman croaked, "your sister rides ahead on a black horse. She holds two swords. One is your father's; the other comes from the men she fights with. She has been hurt, but she continues to fight against a tide of Orcs, beasts, and evil men. Write this down son, so it may be remembered:_

"_She will win the fight, but at the cost of the man she loves. For he is doomed. But do not despair, she will relive the story of this family and find happiness." With these last words, L__ú__thien Tin__ú__viel closed her eyes one last time and drifted off into an endless sleep._

"_No, it cannot be so," whispered Dior. "First my mother gives her life for a man, and now my sister. I will not let it be so. My mother said 'man', but she could have been mistaken. Celeste could have been meant to fall for an immortal, who would not die and curse her with death as my mother has been. I will write the prophecy, but not as my mother has said. I can then, at least, spare my sister the same grief."_

* * *

I awoke from my dream to the rough hand of Éomer shaking me out of my sleep. Gasping, I flew into a sitting position and swung my arms out to protect me.

"Ah, it's only you," I mumbled, settling again.

"I came to wake you. The men are eating breakfast now. We'll be leaving as soon as the tents are packed up. We can't afford to linger long. Orcs are about in the daylight," he said.

I nodded, my head still swimming in my dream. I had dreamt again of the woman, my mother. And it was the first time I had seen her son, Dior, my brother. But what she had said about the prophecy was troubling. Although 'man' wasn't particularly species-specific, it implied that I would love a human, which made sense. I had loved a human. Jeff. He'd died instantly when a drunk driver smashed into his car one night while driving home from work at the campus bar.

Jeff had been a good guy. He's brought flowers on all the requisite days, kissed me every night before bed, and told me he loved me just days before he died. I'd loved him back, but I'd been too stubborn to admit to it. I wouldn't make the same mistake again. I'd stay as far as I could from available men and focus instead on that task at hand – winning the war against Sauron.

Which, when I thought about it, wasn't going well either. I'd landed with a band of exiled Rohirrim who were forbidden from getting too close to Rohan's cities. How could I defend Rohan if my company wasn't allowed to get close to it? It seemed that the Valar hadn't done well in where they'd sent me. But, then again, I trusted that everything done by mystical people was done for a reason. There would be something to this eored, I just hadn't found it yet.

With Éomer out of the tent, I changed into loose jeans and a sweatshirt. I put my blanket and the night's clothes back into the satchel and folded Éomer's cloak neatly. I tossed the satchel over my shoulder and brought the cloak out in my arms.

Sighting Éomer's horse, I laid the cloak out on its back and sought out Dunheld. I had promised to ride with him and desperately wanted to get out of Éomer's way. He hadn't looked too pleased when he woke me up.

I found Dunheld easily. Actually, I nearly walked straight into him. I had my eyes on the ground, trying to keep from stepping into any dying embers. I caught sight of a pair of feet just seconds before walking into Dunheld. He had been doing the same thing as I had. It made sense – if he ruined the boots he was wearing, he would have no spare pair, thanks to me.

"There you are! I have some bread and dried meat left from breakfast if you'd like some before we begin riding," he offered.

"No thank you. I'm not hungry," I answered, walking beside him.

"If you say so," he answered, putting the food away, "I've taken down my tent already, I'll just need to pack everything onto my horse."

I followed Dunheld to where he had camped last night. Together, we bundled his tent, blankets, and saddlebags and strapped them to his horse. The animal stood still and complacent while being fitted with Dunheld's things and only turned to its master when the last strap had been tightened. Dunheld stroked the horse's mane and petted its coat.

"His name is Thunder," he remarked, still stroking the horse. The bond between the two was obvious. "I've had him for six years now and he's never once let me fall. He's a good, loyal horse."

The riders around us were beginning to saddle and mount their horses in preparation to leave. Following suit, Dunheld put his left foot in Thunder's stirrup and swung his right leg over the horse's back. He extended a hand to help pull me up. I took it and he nearly doubled back when I pulled myself up.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"You weigh almost nothing. I'd forgotten that elves were so lightly built."

"I never knew," I answered, wondering if Éomer had been so surprised when he'd pulled me up onto his own horse.

* * *

I'd watched from a distance the entire day while Celeste made conversation with Dunheld and the other riders. Her friendliness towards me, however, seemed to have vanished. She never once spoke to me, even when I rode closer to Dunheld's horse. I know that I shouldn't have cared so much, but I longed to see more of the kindness she'd shown the other night. She had a way of soothing me without upsetting me further. I had thought that only Éowyn had had that skill.

She made no attempt to talk to me even after we'd camped for the night. I was beginning to worry if I had offended her somehow last night or this morning. I longed to talk to her and to hold her hands in mine again. The attraction was strong, but it made little sense. I was mortal and she would live to the end of time. And if the attraction grew into love, gods forbid, I would be a doomed man. It had been prophesized so.

Still, I found my eyes wandering over to Dunheld's campfire as often as I could spare a glance. She'd attracted a small crowd of men, interested in her stories of her past life. At least she was making friends.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: I just finished my year at university and have moved back to my parents' house for the summer. I've been on hiatus because of exams and from moving bwtween Toronto and my hometown – roughly a six-hour trip. Presently, I'm trying to find a job for the summer, but will hopefully have more time to write in between work and summer adventures,

PS. I like reviews. They're excellent motivation. : )

* * *

I'd noticed Éomer giving me the evil eye several times that night. I pretended to take no notice of him and, instead, acted as interested as possible in the conversation I was having with the men around me.

Presently, I was trying to explain the concept of an elevator to the Rohirrim, "it's an iron box, which is attached to an iron rope that pulls the box up and down to match with the floors in a building."

"But who pulls the rope to move the box up? The box cannot go very far, else it would be a great weight to pull, even for a strong man," asked Dunheld.

"It's pulled by machines which allows the box to be pulled higher than stairs can reach. Well over fifty floor in some buildings. The building that I lived in had thirty-five floors," I answered.

"It must have been taller than Isengard!" exclaimed Eogarth.

"I can assure you that there were much taller buildings. My city had the tallest tower in my world and it was 1 815 feet tall. It was named after my country – Canada – and called Canada's National Tower."

"The men of your country must have had a lot of idle time to build such a thing," said Éomer, walking over to join the crowd.

"Not exactly. We have machines to help build," I explained, holding back a frown. Éomer was so ignorant sometimes. Of course the CN Tower wasn't built by hand; such a feat would take centuries!

"Oh, machines… my mistake," Éomer answered, moving away from the crowd.

I rose from the ground and began to follow him. "Éomer!" I called, yelling after him.

"What?" he demanded, whirling around to face me.

"What was that about? Why were you being so terse? And why were you so angry with me this morning?"

"I wasn't angry with you at all. You were tossing about in your sleep and crying out for someone. I wanted to wake you from the dream," he explained, adding, "you looked pained."

"Then why have you not talked to me all day and shot me glares instead?"

"I wasn't glaring at you!"

"Then why did you keep looking over – don't think I didn't notice."

"I was checking on you because I was worried," he insisted.

"Worried? I was surrounded by a group of your best men, Éomer. Seriously, why did you keep looking over?" But before the words were out of me, I could read the answer off his face. His eyes darted nervously from my eyes to the ground in front of him.

"Celeste," he began, "you're a…. different kind of person. I… I can't help but feel…"

I'd heard enough. I didn't want another Jeff. Not when my own mother had foreseen the doom of the man I would love. Éomer was handsome, yes. He had all that long dark blonde hair and those eyes that never stopped shining no matter how dirtied his face got from riding. And he had a personality. Albeit one that was hard to crack, but it was there.

Still, I couldn't. I backed away, my mouth cracked open.

"I'm attracted to you, yes," Éomer finally spat out.

"You can't be – the prophecy," I mumbled, turning my back to him.

He caught my hand as I begun to spin and pulled me back towards him. Strong as he was, I was fairly sure that I had the strength to resist his pull and march away. But, out of curiosity, I stayed rooted to the spot.

"It's an attraction, nothing more. You are a beautiful woman, but are much better matched to one of your own kind."

"My own kind? I've spent my waking life as a human, in case you'd forgotten," I retaliated. Why was I defending the possibility of a relationship with him?

"No, I hadn't forgotten, but I cease to understand how the humans who raised you can even be comparable to the ones who inhabit this world. Your humans have the power of life and death over everything the surrounds them and wield their mighty machines so that their world bends to their iron will. Your people are more Elven or Wizard-kind than akin to the humans of this world.

"And might I remind you that the rest of your life, which will likely be longer than the precursor you have experienced, is likely to be much longer as you are an immortal who will outlive us all. So you had better begin to take an interest in this world! It is just as real, even though it is threatening to be torn in half by a war to a degree that your people have not seen!"

"How dare you!" I shouted, "do you think that because we have greater technologies than those here that our problems and our wars are lesser? How blind are you, Éomer? With great power comes great responsibility! How can you not know this and still call yourself a leader?" Ok, so I'd used a Spider Man line, but I doubted he'd catch me on that.

Éomer took a deep breath. I watched his body tense, than slowly relax. He was struggling to maintain control of his temper when he spoke, "perhaps I was mistaken about where you have come from. A people that can build high into the sky and who have ways of moving quickly without horses seem too mighty for war." He took another breath and tensed again, "but, you may never see that world again. So you would do well to concern yourself more with this world. You were brought here for many reasons, Celeste."

I couldn't stay angry with him any longer. Arguing with Éomer was tiring, and continuing the fight would drain me of my strength. Relieved by his peace offering, I struck my own compromise, "we come from very different homelands, Éomer. Although you understand the world you were born in, it, too, is no more. I have a feeling that the kingdoms and customs you are used to will dissolve before this war is over."

He took my hand in his and pulled me to the ground to sit beside him at his campfire. He said nothing for several minutes and I became conscious of his hand over mine. It felt too tight and enveloping. I squirmed my fingers and pulled my hand loose. He gave my hand up easily and moved his hand back to rest on his leg.

"How much faith do you put in prophecies?" I asked him.

"Are you worried about your own?" he asked "because from what I've seen, you stand a fair chance of fulfilling it."

"You mean the part about helping in the war. I'm more worried about the part of falling in love with a doomed man."

"Soul," he corrected.

"No, man. In a dream last night, I saw my mother making the prophecy and she said man. And by the way my brother reacted to the prophecy, I believe she meant the race, not the gender."

"Ah."

"You see, while that is troublesome, perhaps it isn't a pressing problem at all. Prophecies can be interpreted in many ways, and maybe my mother got the predictions in the wrong order."

"Explain."

"I was in love with someone in Canada. I was young, nineteen. His name was Jeff," I said pausing for a moment. Éomer looked uncomfortable and shifted away from me slightly. "He died three years ago. I never told him that I loved him, although he told me several times before his death," I continued, "I just thought, that, maybe, that part of the prophecy was over before the rest began."

"I think you may be right," Éomer answered, and I am sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can do?"

"No – it was a long time ago. Don't worry about it. We've got a war ahead, after all," I replied, putting my hand over his for a change. His fingers relaxed against mine and our palms cupped each other.

The sun was low in the sky – it was nearly nighttime. With interest, I watched the last stretches of golden light disappear behind distant mountains. The sky was now stained a deep purple. Neither Éomer nor I said anything. Instead, we watched, hands held. I was beginning to understand him. He was gruff, but knew how to reign himself in when he needed to. And he was frustrated with the war that had surrounded his family and was picking them away, one by one.

* * *

We reached Edoras late in the afternoon and were disarmed before entering the Golden Hall. An able-bodied guard had relieved me of my Galadhrim bow and my long knives. Aragorn had pulled out a dizzying array of knives and swords from his boots, belt, and under his cloak.

Walking into the darkened hall was a stark contrast from the sunny exterior of the building. Most of the windows were shut tight and the place seemed deserted, except for the king, his advisor, and a handful of guards standing at the sides of the room.

The advisor, a stooped man with pale skin and greasy black hair whispered into the king's ear, "My lord, Gandalf the Grey is coming. He's a herald of woe."

I disliked the man immediately and wondered what other 'wisdom' the wretched little man had been whispering into Théoden's ear over the last several months.

Gandalf spoke next, "the courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the guards at the side of the room fell into step behind us, closing the gap quickly.

The man whispered again into the king's ear, "he's not welcome."

"Why should I… welcome you Gandalf… Stormcrow?" asked the king in labored breaths. He turned his head slightly up to his advisor, as if asking for his approval.

"A just question, my liege," the greasy man answered, beginning to walk towards Gandalf, "late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell spell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" Gandalf ordered, raising his staff, "keep your forked tongue behind you teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!"

"His staff!" he cried out in annoyance, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!" In a quick motion, the guards advanced on Gandalf.

I raised my arm quickly into one guard's head, knocking him out. Gimli and Aragorn, too, were quick to help fight off the guards. There were about half a dozen of them, but they were quickly knocked to the ground or held off from Gandalf.

"Théoden, son of Thengel, too long have you sat in the shadows," called Gandalf.

The king's advisor lunged at Gandalf, but was swiftly caught by Gimli, who pinned him to the floor with his foot, growling, "I would stay still if I were you."

"Hearken to me! I release you from the spell!" said Gandalf.

The king let out a hollow, cold laugh, "you have no power here, Gandalf Greyhame."

In a spit of rage, Gandalf threw off his grey cloak, revealing a white under-robe. Théoden was thrown back in his chair, letting out a cry of pain. "I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound," Gandalf continued, advancing towards the king.

In a voice I recognized to be Saruman's, Théoden replied, "if I go, Théoden dies."

"You did not kill me, you will not kill him," ordered Gandalf, "be gone!"

With that, the king collapsed into the arms of a young woman who had rushed to him. Her demeanor reminded me of Celeste. Concerned, but strong and cool. In her arms, the king slowly transformed, his hair returning to an ash blonde, his eyes refocusing, and his skin smoothing into its usual texture. The woman held him tightly, supporting him.

The king of Rohan had been saved.


	9. Chapter 9

Note: long chapter this time. :)

* * *

I chose to sleep by the fire that night. I had an uneasy feeling in my belly and wanted to be outside and alert in case anything happened at the camp. Éomer elected to sleep inside that night, confident that the night sentries were enough of a watch.

I stayed up for a time, not feeling sleepy. My body was beginning to get sore from riding – I hadn't ridden since I was a teenager – but my muscle aches were mild in comparison to what a human body might have received. I'd been smart to choose to be an elf.

The men around the camp were beginning to snore in their sleep. The sound both relaxed and annoyed me. It was very dark now – well past midnight. I gathered my blankets up closer to myself and lay down on the cloak Éomer had loaned me again. I made a pillow out of a sweater and lay my head down on it. It was still early spring here and the nights were cool. Nothing as cold as Canada was at this time of year. The temperature was more of a perception for me than a sensation. I didn't feel the cold exactly, I just knew that it was cold. The men might have felt the temperature, but I didn't, and it did not hinder my sleep – and the dreams that accompanied nighttime.

* * *

_Four-legged beasts roamed the hills. They might have been dogs once, or wolves, but they had been tortured to make them large and ravenous. Their clawed feet tore through the grass, ripping up the earth. Atop their backs were brutish creatures wielding spears, bows, and swords. The riders had blackened faces and pointed features. For those that had hair, it was matted in dirty clumps behind their heads. Snarls and yells escaped their mouths as they neared their prey._

_Just beyond the hills, a large group of humans and horses were traveling. They were slow moving, bringing women, children, and the elderly with them on the way. Men on horses were scouting the hills before them and keeping a watch on the group._

_Suddenly, the brute creatures launched forward towards the humans, swords brandished. A group of the human scouts turned back to warn the group, but they had little time to prepare for battle. The group was divided – men on horses stayed to fight whilst the others kept to the path, hurrying to get to safety._

_One of the group, not a man at all, but an elf, drew out his bow and began to shoot arrows at the oncoming horde of beasts. Legolas was his name. He had been one of the three that the Rohirrim had met only days ago. His skill with his bow was excellent. He brought down many of the beasts and their riders, but there were far too many to pick off from a distance. Pulling out long knives, he charged into the enemy with the rest of the men, killing as he went._

_A terrible battle ensued and many of the humans fell defending their loved ones. All three of the travelers were in the battle: Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn. They had battled the creatures that rode the four-legged beasts many times before and showed a great hatred for them. _

_While slashing at one of the riders, Aragorn's sleeve became caught on one of the beasts. He wrestled with the rider and tried in vain to free himself. Chased by men on horses, the beast was running rapidly towards a cliff edge, threatening to run over and into the ravine below. _

_Aragorn managed to throw the rider off, injuring his with his sword, but could not free himself from the beast. It ran to the edge, scraped Aragorn's body over the rocky ledge and then plummeted down towards the river that ran beside the mountain. He had fallen to his death._

* * *

When I awoke, I was certain that the events of my dream hadn't happened yet. They could not have. The group that Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas had traveled with was from Edoras which was days away. They could not have ridden to Edoras and back so quickly. If I was fast enough, I could keep Aragorn from going over the cliff. It seemed the instinctive thing to do. The war was back in the heart of Rohan, not out in the wilds with Éomer and his eored.

A paralyzing thought struck me. The beasts and their riders, while there had been many, were obviously not enough to bring down the Rohirrim guard. The enemy surely had a much larger army with which to fight the greater war. While men had died, the battle in my dream had been a skirmish and a precursor to a much larger battle. And the Rohirrim had had so few men with them. No more than a couple hundred. I guessed that the enemy would have several times that.

They had to be warned.

I bolted off the ground and ran for Éomer's tent. The sky was still grey with very early morning and he was not likely to be awake. I would have to rouse him. Only fair, as he had done the same only yesterday.

I threw open the door of Éomer's tent and crouched next to him. He was sprawled out under a blanket and sleeping soundly. Urgently, I pushed on his shoulders and shook him from side to side.

He woke almost instantly and held my wrist in a death grip until he realized that it was me in the tent.

"Celeste?" he asked, glancing out the door of his tent, "the sun still hasn't risen." He stiffened as he took in other possibilities, "are we being attacked?"

"No. Not yet," I answered quickly.

"What's the matter then? Your face has gone white."

I took in a deep breath and tried to explain chronologically, "A large group is going to leave Edoras with women and children. I don't know where they're going, but I think they will be safer there."

"Helm's Deep," Éomer interrupted.

"They're going to be attacked on the way there by riders atop wolfish beasts. Many will be killed. Aragorn – the man who traveled wit the elf and the dwarf – will fall off a cliff," I finished, "I need to go and save him."

"The eored could turn towards Edoras and intercept them on the way," Éomer suggested, rubbing his arms as he woke up.

"No," I said immediately, "this will only be a small battle. They will win it at a cost. But there will be a bigger battle soon. Maybe at Helm's Deep, as you suggested."

"How do you know this?"

"I dreamt it."

"You dreamt it," Éomer repeated skeptically.

"Yes, but I know that it will come true. My dreams often have a habit of doing that. Before I came here, I dreamt of this place and of my parents. And last night, I dreamt of the prophecy as it was being made."

"You have the gift of foresight," he murmured, beside me.

"I can't control it. It just comes in dreams."

"Still."

"Éomer, you'll need to gather more men. There will be a bigger battle and Rohan must be able to defend itself. I will try to meet them at the first battle."

"We haven't any horses to spare – you could never get there in time."

"I'll run if I must," I answered stubbornly.

"You must be mad, but I like your character," Éomer answered, "take Firefoot, my horse. I can ride behind one of the men."

"I couldn't take him. You'll need him when your eored joins the battle. I can run."

"It will take you weeks to get there. There are villages nearby that would have stables. We could borrow a horse for you," Éomer said.

"Is that allowed?" I asked, worried that this would be seen as stealing.

"I am the King's nephew. It comes with certain privileges," he smirked.

"Thank you," I whispered, looking him in the eye with sincerity.

Éomer stretched and began to pull back the blanket that was draped over him. He had slept in a loose tunic and leggings with his hair loose. He bent over to fold his blanket and I got a good view of him. He had a large, muscular build that was not 'puffed up' by his armor as I had guessed earlier. His legs were thick and, through the leggings, I could see the ripple of muscles beneath his skin. He didn't look like the kind of man that I would want to have to fight against in a battle.

* * *

We arrived in Freaburg by mid-morning. I was hesitant to enter the village. If the people there knew of my exile, they could legally kill me. I hoped that word of Grima's exile hadn't passed far out of Edoras.

Upon sighting us, one of the villagers ran up to the eored. He was stocky and did not run very fast. I easily closed the gap between us by urging Firefoot to move faster. Despite the double load on his back, he obliged easily.

"Good morn, sir," I greeted.

"Lord Éomer! You are most welcome," the villager replied. His greeting had been positive, so I doubted that Grima had bothered to send word to the outer villages of my exile. That worked in my favour.

"One of our horses was killed and we were looking to borrow another from you good village people. I am willing to pay you for the trouble," I said.

"Pay us? Not from you, my lord. What type of horse do ye be needing?"

"Something to fit the likes of the she-elf behind me. Do not ask questions."

"For a she-elf?" the man mumbled, scratching his head, "I suppose we could rustle up a strong mare for the lady. Frengel's the stable master, I'll hafta ask him which'd be best for the lady. Is that all, my lord?"

"No, we are mustering Rohirrim from the Westfold to defend Helm's Deep. Word has reached us that there may be an attack there."

Some of the men behind made sounds of confusion. I had told some of the men that we needed to fetch a horse for Celeste and that we would muster Rohirrim. But I had not mentioned the possibility of attack. I would explain things to them more fully when we camped this evening.

"Celeste?" I called behind me, "go with this man to the stables and find a horse for yourself." I pointed to a cluster of trees near the stables, "meet me there when you are ready."

She nodded her agreement and leapt down from Firefoot to follow the villager.

"We make camp early today!" I yelled to the riders, "replenish your supplies, sharpen your swords, care for your horses, and take rest. I will explain all this evening."

* * *

I jogged with the villager towards a large stable in the centre of the village. Once inside, he hastily introduced me to Frengel, the stable master and left to meet up with the riders again.

"I think a loyal mare would suit you well. How do you ride, lady?" asked Frengel.

"I am elven-kind, so I do not weigh much. For this journey I must ride swiftly on a horse that will not throw me," I answered.

The man grunted and led me down past rows of stalls to a medium-sized horse the colour of cappuccino. He had a black diamond-shaped patch on her forehead and a long, well-brushed black mane and tail.

"His name is Dior. One of the stable-boys spent too much time reading the Elvish lore and named her after the first half-elf. I think she will suit," he said, gesturing towards my pointed ears.

"Thank you," I said as the man saddled her and tied my satchel to the saddle.

"I'd do anything for Lord Éomer. He's one of the best marshalls this land has seen. We need more men of his character. And he must be in your favour if he asked for a horse on your behalf. A friend of Éomer's is a friend of mine."

"Again, thank you." I didn't know what else to say, so I took hold of Dior's reins and walked her out of the stable towards the trees that Éomer had pointed out a moment ago. It was a funny coincidence to be given a horse named after my brother, though the stable master surely hadn't known that. Or was my hair a giveaway? I hadn't seen much red hair in these parts, other than on Gimli the Dwarf. But I didn't think that my hair was connected to the prophecy.

Éomer was standing in the midst of the trees, quite out of sight unless you drew close to the trees. When he caught sight of me, he smiled grimly and began to fumble at the edge of his cloak.

"Celeste –"

"There isn't much time. What was it you wanted?"

"To give you this," he said, pulling out a sword and sheath. He began to tie it to my belt, "it's only my spare sword, but you might find a need for it. I trust that the Valar sent us an elleth who would know how to use a sword?"

"Yes," I answered quickly, recalling fencing classes I'd taken. I wondered if that was close enough experience.

"The best way to come to the path between Edoras and Helm's Deep is to follow the river that runs on the other side of that mountain yonder," he continued, pointing to a solitary mountain, "follow that until you get to the dirt path. With any luck, the people will be near and the battle won't have started yet."

I nodded and mounted Dior, memorizing his directions.

"One more thing," he said.

"What?" I answered, perplexed. What more did I need than a sword and some directions?

"This," he said, grasping my cheek and pulling my head into his for a kiss. His lips met mine roughly in quick desperation. Stunned, I was still for a moment before I began to kiss him back. I pulled away just as the kiss began to grow more heated. Éomer's hand dropped from my face.

"There isn't time," I whispered.

"There will be," he assured me, "there will be."

* * *

Kindly review.


	10. Chapter 10

Note: words in **bold** are Sindarin Elvish.

* * *

I rode hard for two days, following the directions that Éomer had laid out for me. Just as he'd said, I found a fast-flowing river beyond the mountain and followed its current until I caught sight of a dirt path. The path ran parallel to the river and up a steep hill that overlooked the river.

Somewhere on the hill I heard the sounds of heavy horse hooves and faint shouts. The battle had begun without me. Panicking, I pulled Dior's reins and directed him up the hill. He snorted, unhappy that he was being made to climb such a hill after two days of fast travel.

"**Bedim**," I whispered, "**noro lim, an ngell nîn**." (Let's go. Run swift, please.) I was startled to hear the foreign words come out of my mouth. I understood what I had said, as did Dior, who was cantering fast up the hill. Varda had given me the gift of language. I supposed that I was speaking one of the Elvish languages of this world.

Dior reached the top of the hill and whinnied in triumph. The battle was in sight; the beasts were losing. Aragorn might have already fallen.

"**Hannon le**," I whispered to Dior, patting the side of his neck. (Thank you.) "We have a battle to finish and a friend to find."

I pulled Éomer's sword out of its sheath and urged Dior onwards into the thick of the battle. Some of the beasts and their riders had noticed me and began to ride in my direction. I braced myself to drive my sword into its gut and urged Dior forward at a fast gallop.

The first blackened rider was far ahead of the others. He raised his crooked sword and charged at me on his beast. My hand stiffened and my heart caught. He was nearly within my reach. Dior lurched a few paces closer and I slashed my sword across the rider's chest before he had the chance to bring his sword down.

The rider let out a squeal of pain and bent his head to take in his wound. I seized the moment to neatly drive my sword through his neck, decapitating him. The rider's head fell to the ground and made a thud in front of the beast he rode. I plunged my sword into the beast's neck, killing him. That was one beast and rider down.

Two more still approached. The nearest one yelled, "Get the she-elf! The White Wizard will want her alive."

Dior charged towards the beasts and I hacked my sword into the first rider's neck. The thing spurted blood, black as oil, all over my sword arm. I stabbed into the beast it rode, bringing another pair down.

The second beast made a leap at me and Dior turned quickly, throwing me off. I hit the ground on my side. Below me was a plateau of flat rock. Wincing, I scrambled to stand up. The beast was at my left side, preparing to bite into my side. I swung my sword across its mouth, surprising it. It bucked, throwing off its rider, and ran away.

"She-elf," spat the fallen rider, standing opposite me with his own sword in hand.

"Get out of here," I yelled.

The creature laughed and swung his blade at my side. _What happened to him taking me alive?_ I swung my sword out to meet his and the metal clanged loudly. I swung hard into his blade, knocking it to the side. Taking advantage of his brief vulnerability, I brought my blade backwards to slash the creature in the throat. He did not fall, but swung his blade back violently. I ducked down, barely avoiding the blow, and sliced at his knees.

The creature crumpled as I stood up. I delivered a well-aimed kick to the centre of his chest, knocking him flat onto his back. I drove my sword into his chest to make sure that he was dead.

Seeing that there were no more of the beasts running my way, I ran on foot into the battle. The Rohirrim were making quick work of the remaining beasts and riders. Hoping I wasn't too late, I desperately looked around for Aragorn, scanning the plains.

I caught sight of one of the beasts, running fast towards the cliff with a man clinging on helplessly. Aragorn.

"Fuck!" I yelled, running towards the cliff to try and stop the beast. I was too far off and the beast was dangerously close to the edge.

* * *

Out of the side of my vision, I caught sight of a tan-coloured horse running up a hill towards the battle. Atop the steed was a red-haired female rider brandishing a sword. Celeste; what was she doing here?

An orc ran at me with its blade, but I quickly fired an arrow into its throat, sending it to the ground. Another came at me, much closer, and I yanked out one of my knives to slice at its throat.

Three wargs were running fast towards Celeste. I tried to run towards her to help her, but another warg was blocking my path. I shot at its head. The arrow landed in its left shoulder, but did not bring the beast down. It took several more shots to slay the beast and its rider. I looked over to Celeste. She'd already brought down the first two wargs and riders and was engaging in a swordfight with the third. I turned in her direction and began to run to help her.

Another warg blocked my path, but Gimli bolted in front of me and chopped its feet out from under it with his axe. "This one's mine!" he yelled, swinging his axe violently into the warg's face.

I nodded to him in assent and looked again to where Celeste had been standing. She was gone. I panicked, spinning around, trying to sight the elleth.

"Stop him!" she yelled from my left, pointing wildly at a warg that had dove over the edge of the cliff. Whyever would she want to save one of those hideous creatures?

Seeing that the beast had been lost, she turned on her feet and ran in the opposite direction, away from the dying battle.

"Victory!" I heard some of the Rohirrim shouting, "victory!"

I shook my head in Celeste's direction and walked back to the battle to look for Aragorn.

* * *

I had ridden as fast as I could to the battle and still Aragorn had fallen over the cliff. And I hadn't warned the Eorlingas of my suspicions. That could wait, I decided. There was still a chance, albeit a small one, that Aragorn had survived the fall into the ravine. I turned and ran back down the hill towards the river.

The shore of the river was tight against the ravine and I had to wade through the rushing water in many places. My side ached from falling onto the rock earlier and I suspected, from the sting that the water made, that I was cut there. Still, I had to find Aragorn's body as quickly as possible.

"Dior!" I called, hoping that my horse wasn't far off. Without him, I would never be able to get Aragorn to safety, alive or dead. "Dior!"

I rounded a bend in the river and caught sight of a body floating, face up, in the water. "Aragorn!" I shouted, splashing towards him.

I reached him and shook his body lightly, trying to see if he was alive. I felt at his neck for a pulse. I found one, but it was faint. He was badly wounded. I pulled his body towards the closest piece of shore that I could find. There were rapids up ahead and I couldn't let Aragorn float into them. I tugged harder, pulling his body along with me. The current was getting faster and I fought hard to keep my footing.

When I reached the shore, I lifted him up over the rocks as best as I could. The water had weighted his clothes down considerably.

"Dior!" I called again, more desperately. Where was my horse?

While I waited, I turned Aragorn, letting him spit out the river water he'd swallowed. I found a large open gash on his arm with bits of his shirt stuck in it. As carefully as I could, I peeled away the fabric and rinsed the cut with handfuls of water. If I had my first aid kit, I'd be able to do better.

Aragorn winced and twitched his mouth uncomfortably. "Arwen?" he whispered.

"Not quite," I answered, shaking him gently.

I heard hooves behind me and turned to see Dior and a dark brown horse. I smiled at seeing Dior and opened my saddle bag to find my first aid kit. I pulled it open and took out cleaning solution, cotton pads, wadding, and gauze.

"Stay still," I instructed as I began to clean his arm and wrap the wound in gauze and cotton. Aragorn didn't move, even when I poured the disinfectant into his cut. He must've been knocked up quite hard when he hit the water.

"You're soaked," I commented as I replaced my first aid kit and pulled out a large hoodie and blanket.

With difficulty, I pulled off Aragorn's outer shirt and replaced it with my dry hoodie before wrapping him in a thick blanket. He looked more comfortable, but I still had the problem of bringing him to Helm's Deep.

"Aragorn, can you ride?" I asked him.

"Yes," he whispered, "but I cannot get onto a horse."

At those words, the dark horse nosed me out of the way and lay down beside him. "Brego," Aragorn whispered as he pulled himself over the horse's back. With Aragorn safely on top, Brego carefully stood up and walked to stand beside Dior.

I made sure that Aragorn's blanket was tucked securely around him and that his feet were in place around the horse before mounting Dior.

"To Helm's Deep," I instructed the horses, who trotted in the direction of the path the Rohirrim had taken.

* * *

When I opened my eyes, I found that I was sitting on top of Brego, Théodred's horse. My outer tunic was gone and I was dressed instead in a curious thick tunic and wrapped with a soft brown blanket. I touched my throat instinctively, looking for the Evenstar necklace.

It was gone. Arwen would be disappointed. Arwen – I could have sworn that I'd seen her while I was floating in the river. But the woman who rode beside me was not Arwen. I took in her long red hair and pointed ears, trying to identify her.

"Celeste?" I guessed. Though my eyes were groggy, she looked very much like the elleth that we had met when we encountered Éomer and his eored.

"Who else?" she laughed, before looking more serious, "you look better. How's your arm?"

My arm? Had I injured it in the battle? I hadn't thought so. I remembered fighting orcs and wags, then getting caught on a warg's saddle and being pulled over a cliff. How I'd survived the fall was a mystery, but that must have been how I'd hurt my arm. Nonetheless, it wasn't paining me at the moment, so I replied, "it's alright."

"I found you in the river," she explained, seeing my confusion, "you were floating on your back, getting too close to a set of rapids. Did your mother never tell you not to play near cliffs?"

"My mother?" I asked.

"It's an expression from where I'm from."

I nodded my understanding and glanced at our surroundings. We were on the path, drawing through a thin forest. On the horizon, I saw a black smear. It looked like Uruk-hai.

"Celeste?" I called, pointing to the black smear, "can you see that?"

She turned her head to the horizon and her eyes widened, "it's an army of black beasts. They're coming in our direction – towards Helm's Deep."

"Uruk-hai," I said grimly, "how many?"

She looked closer, as if she was counting the rows and squares of their ranks and calculating their number.

"There's at least ten thousand," she gasped, "can you ride faster? We need to reach Helm's Deep before they do."

I agreed and dug my knees into Brego's sides. "By my guess, they'll be there by nightfall. We must hurry if we're to warn the others."

Celeste's horse matched Brego's speed and together, we raced urgently towards the fortress and towards the oncoming battle.

* * *

Review please.


	11. Chapter 11

Stuff in **bold** is Sindarin Elvish. Some of the spellings might be inconsistent. (eg. honor vs. honour) I had a horrible time with that wretched American spellcheck!

* * *

The fortress of Helm's Deep was buzzing with activity when we entered. Upon seeing us, the refugees inside screamed in delight and rushed to help Aragorn, crying, "he's alive!" He was popular here, I noted.

Hearing the cries of the Eorlingas, Gimli the Dwarf pushed his way through the crowd, knocking over elderly men and women carrying children. "Where is he? Where is he?" he shouted. "Get out of the way. I'm gonna kill him!" he declared, pushing a soldier out of the way. Finally seeing Aragorn, Gimli rushed out to greet him, yelling, "You are the luckiest, the canniest and the most reckless man I ever knew! Bless you, laddie!" With that, the dwarf gathered a surprised Aragorn up into an uncomfortable hug.

I watched, concerned. "Be careful," I said, "his arm is wounded."

"It's alright," Aragorn answered. To Gimli, he added, "where is the King?"

Gruffly, Gimli pointed to a large building in the centre of the complex and Aragorn made his way towards it, Not knowing where else to go, I followed him. We met Legolas inside, who greeted Aragorn sarcastically, "you're late." Pausing, he added, "you look terrible." Legolas shook his head, his hair swinging with the motion and passed Aragorn a silver jeweled necklace.

Why a rugged-type man like Aragorn wanted a girly necklace was beyond me. But he seemed grateful and whispered "**hannon le**" (thank you) to Legolas, clapping him on the shoulder.

Aragorn then proceeded into the king's hall and gestured for me to follow. He passed through a door, momentarily disappearing out of my sight. I moved to follow, but Legolas caught my wrist.

"I saw you fighting the wargs and orcs. You know how to handle a sword, but tell me, why did you leave the Rohirrim?" he asked.

"I knew there would be a struggle on the path to Helm's Deep so I came to help."

"How did you know we would flee to this place? And how did you know that Isengard would be unleashing its wolves?"

"I just knew," I answered stubbornly. I didn't care to explain my dreams to him, not just now, "call it intuition if you like."

"Intuition?" Legolas asked, confused.

I didn't bother to answer him, but walked quickly to the door Aragorn had passed through in hopes of finding the King.

It seemed that I had entered in the midst of a conversation.

"Ten thousand!?" Théoden was saying. He sounded surprised. That couldn't be good for the impending battle. It meant that he wasn't prepared.

"It is an army bred for a single purpose: to destroy the world of men. They will be here by nightfall," Aragorn finished.

Théoden leaned heavily against a balcony railing, wringing the stone bar in his hands. "Let them come!" he spat through his teeth. He seemed to notice me just then and turned to face me, "who are you? You're not of Rohan."

"I am Celeste and, for the moment, at your service," I answered, thinking quickly, "Look, Théoden, King, Sir. I was with Éomer's eored. We anticipated this battle and he's gone in search of more riders. But…" I paused, uncertain of how to break the rest of the story to the King.

"Yes lady?" he asked, impatiently.

"He did not know that the battle would be so imminent. He may not arrive on time to be of much aid," I confessed, "But he is coming."

Théoden sighed heavily and leaned against the wall. "Thank you for your information. You'd best get into the caves with the other women."

"The caves?" I shouted, "I wasn't plucked from my own world to sit this out in a cave!"

Aragorn laid a hand on my arm to quiet me. "She is the daughter of Beren and Lúthien. She was prophesized to come to Rohan's aid when its need was most dire. I have the letter she was given here," Aragorn said, pulling out a nearly soaked letter from the folds of his belt. Surprisingly, the writing was still quite legible. "It is in Gandalf's hand."

Théoden tore the paper from Aragorn's hands and perused it quickly. "_Lead the free people of Rohan to victory… history will repeat itself_." He refolded the letter and passed it back to Aragorn. "If you ask me, this sort of superstition is rubbish. But, if you say you can fight, get yourself to the armoury and make yourself useful."

I nodded and made to leave the room. Turning on my heel, I glanced back and asked, "which way is it?"

"Through the left door and at the end of the corridor. You'll know you've reached it when you hear the sounds of soldiers inside," Aragorn supplied.

"Thank you," I said, speed walking out the specified door and down the appointed corridor. True to Aragorn's word, I heard the clanging metal and coarse words of soldiers being armed.

Every head in the room turned to me as I walked in. By this point, I'd given up trying to guess what drew their gaze: my femininity, my red hair, my pointed ears, or my clothing. Best to be proactive in this case.

"Hi, I'm Celeste," I said, introducing myself. "I'm looking for some armour."

"Nice sword," one of the men said with a snicker, nodding towards Éomer's sword which was still tucked into my belt. Several of the other men laughed at the first man's joke.

"It is a nice sword," I agreed, speaking slowly, "and I know how to use it. If one of you would be so kind as to show me how to find some armour, or at least a shield, I'd be thankful."

"She's half mad," commented the first man.

I felt my face heat up. _Was every man in this country possessing of the notion that women were incapable of anything but childbearing?_ Except Éomer, of course. He'd had the foresight to lend me a sword. How was I supposed to fulfill my mother's prophecy if every man I encountered seemed bent on sending me to wait out the war? I decided that mentioning the prophecy wasn't a good idea right now. It would draw too much attention to myself.

"Look, sir. In case you hadn't heard me the first time, I came here to find armour that would fit me."

The man grunted, not feeling up to a conflict and gestured towards a pile of chain mail. I began picking through it, looking for something small enough to fit me. Giving up, I started helping to distribute the available chain shirts to the men in the room, holding the mail up to their torsos to fit them properly. Finding my own mail could wait a little longer – the sun wasn't down yet.

* * *

I entered the armoury to see Celeste passing chain mail and armour around to the men. Presently, she was fitting Aragorn with a chain mail shirt.

Remembering the coarse words I'd had with him earlier, I approached the pair. Bowing my head quickly in respect, I said, "We have trusted you this far. You have not led us astray. Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Aragorn put his hand on my shoulder – for the second to me that day – and replied, "**Ú-moe edaved, ****Legolas**." (There is nothing to forgive, Legolas.)

I noticed that Celeste was regarding us curiously as if trying to determine what we had quarreled about. She was a sharp juxtaposition to her surroundings. While elleths were allowed to fight by our laws, Celeste, in particular, did not look like she belonged in a the midst of a war. While tall, she was slender with a womanly figure. Her red hair set her apart from the sea of blonde men surrounding us. But her eyes, they told some of her story. She was questioning herself. Yes, she'd been tested against orcs and wargs, but her heart did not belong in fighting.

"Ah!" she squealed, picking up a thin, small shirt of chain mail, "I've found one in my size!" How long had she been looking, I wondered. The sun was already low in the sky. No matter, she dashed out of the room in excitement. I made a note to spend some time talking to her after the battle was over. If we both survived.

* * *

Grabbing my satchel from the floor, and the armour I'd chosen, I dashed out of the armoury, looking for a place to change.

I opened each door along the corridor and finally settled on a small room closer to the caves. It looked like a store room, but the shelves that hugged the walls were bare. Keeping away from the door, I pawed through my satchel, looking for something suitable to wear in a battle.

I sniffed the air. It smelt heavy – and wet. It would rain. Lighter layers that would dry quickly would be best, I decided. I stripped off my clothes and picked out a sturdy bra and put that on first. Over that, I put a tight tank top that offered support and kept my chest sung to my rib cage. Over that, I put on a fitted, but not tight, long-sleeved shirt. I put my chain mail shirt on over that, wanting it to be under my last layer. The mail I'd chosen was thin and would offer minimal protection; but it was light, and wouldn't keep me from moving at my fastest. My speed was my best asset and my strategy lay in moving faster than my opponent. That way, I could hope to last the night.

I pulled a thick sweater over that and chose spandex bike shorts under loose cargo pants for my bottom half. My thickest pair of socks protected my feet. The pants easily fell over Dunheld's boots. I grasped the laces at the bottom and pulled them tight to my ankles. Best not to have any water seep in that way.

Instead of heavy, bulky armour, I'd chosen thick leather pads, which I began to knot to my body. There were guards that fit around the lower part of my legs, guards that fit around my forearms, and a collared leather vest that fit over my layers. I French-braided my hair and tied it securely with an elastic to keep it out of the way. It fell down to the top of my waist. I was feeling very Lara Croft as I pulled snug fingerless gloves over the palms of my hands.

Breaking my concentration, I heard a loud horn coming from somewhere outside the fortress. The orcs couldn't be here already? Could they? I hadn't heard their loud stamping or their ugly snarls. And with so many of them, I'd assumed that I'd hear them before they started fighting.

All the same, I rushed out of the room and into the outermost level of the wall. There were more soldiers entering the fortress. But they didn't look like Rohirrim. Their armour was more elegant and they all carried finely crafted bows that reached all the way up to their ears… which were pointed like mine. Elves.

Aragorn rushed out of the armoury and stood at my side to greet the newcomers.

The leader of the elves spoke first, "I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and men. Long ago we fought and died together." Legolas and Gimli had joined Aragorn and I. The elf looked at the four of us solemnly and continued, "we come to honour that allegiance."

"**Mae govannen Haldir**. (Welcome Haldir.)" said Aragorn gratefully. He grasped the elf tightly in surprise embrace. "You are most welcome."

Haldir turned then to me and pulled a sword and sheath from beneath his robes, displaying it to me in both hands. "Lady Celestina, I am bidden to give you this. It was your father, Beren's, sword. It has been kept these long years in the custody of Gandalf the Grey and of the Lothlórien elves."

"Please, it's Celeste," I said carefully. My hands shaking slightly, I took the sword from him and began to tie it onto the other side of my belt, opposite of Éomer's sword. Immediately, Haldir and all of the elves bowed to me. I blushed and turned away awkwardly. All of this was ridiculous – I hadn't done anything heroic to merit this. Well, I'd patched up Aragorn, but I'd been too late to save him properly.

Haldir rose and said, "we are honoured to fight at your side, Lady." To Théoden, he said, "And we are honoured to fight alongside men, once more."

Théoden nodded stiffly. Perhaps it was a glimmer from the torch light, but I was sure that I could see tears in his eyes. He was grateful, that was for sure.

But we didn't have the time to dick around. There were new soldiers who had to be placed around the balconies. Aragorn and Théoden set about getting everyone into place. We had some Uruk-hai ass to kick.

* * *

Beer gets brewed

Food gets chewed

Hair gets shampooed

Fanfics should be reviewed!


	12. Chapter 12

**Bold** is Sindarin Elvish. This is all in Celeste's POV. Longest chapter yet!

* * *

"Stay close to me," Legolas advised me, "we can cover for each other better that way."

"Good plan," I agreed. We'd found a place on the outer wall of the fortress. Both the elves and the Rohirrim were lined up along the wall, watching the approaching army with a steady gaze.

"You could have picked a better spot," complained Gimli. Because of his small stature, he could barely see over the wall.

Legolas and I chuckled. Aragorn approached us and glanced us over, trying to see what was so funny. He gave up after a moment and regarded the Uruk-hai army with seriousness.

"Well lad, whatever luck you live by, let's hope it lasts the night," Gimli commented.

Aragorn was indeed one of the luckiest men I'd ever met. He led a charmed life, seemingly steered by the gods. While gearing up for battle, he'd found a few moments to share some of his life story with me. It was quite a tale – he was nearly four times my age. The battles he'd fought and the people that he'd met were the stuff of legend; as was his love of Arwen Undomiel. He had fleshed out some of the story behind the name ha had called me when I found him in the stream.

A flash of lightning interrupted my thoughts and illuminated the Uruk-hai army. Seeing them for the first time, several of the men gasped. The Uruk-hai were a fearsome sight. Large, black, and strongly built. They were well-armoured and each carried a broad sword.

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn," said Legolas.

"Let's hope they last the night," said Gimli gruffly.

Indeed, I thought. If only we could last the night, there would be the chance of Éomer's eored coming to help us win the battle. Théoden had decided against telling the men about Éomer's pending arrival, deciding that it was best they not rely on anyone outside the citadel walls. But, while the men didn't rely on Éomer, I did in my own way. Middle Earth was not my fight. Other than self-defence, I had no reason to hate the black creatures that were marching towards. I had nothing to do with this world and this world. My motivation tonight was not to defend Rohan, but to stay alive long enough to see Éomer again. I needed to sort out my feelings for him and that was not something I could do if I was dead.

True to my prediction, it began to rain. I was glad of my layers, but did not look forward to fighting on slippery rock. I rested my palms on the hilts of both my swords. Éomer's sword rested against my left thigh while Beren's sword hung on my right. I'd never fought with two swords before – hell, I'd hardly used swords at all, only fencing foils and sabers – but I thought that tonight would be a good time to try it out.

Aragorn paced behind the line of archers, yelling, "**A Eruchîn, ú-dano i faelas a hyn an uben tanatha le faelas!** (Show them no mercy! For you shall receive none!)"

Below us, the Uruks began to stomp and growl. Fear tactics. I swallowed the cold feeling of my gut and held to my determination to survive the night.

"What's happening out there?" demanded Gimli, jumping up and down, trying to see over the walls.

"Shall I describe it to you? Or would you like me to find you a box?" asked Legolas.

Gimli laughed coarsely and slapped Legolas on the back.

"They look plenty mad," I commented.

"They'll be even madder when they have my axe hewing their bodies to bits!" Gimli roared.

From beside me, Legolas reached for my hand and squeezed reassuringly. I quickly returned the squeeze and pulled my hand back to the hilt of Éomer's sword.

One of the Eorlingas archers let his arrow go early and it flew through the air into the face of an Uruk on the front line. Slowly and dramatically, he flopped to the ground. From behind, I heard Aragorn calling to the elves to hold their fire until the Uruks were closer. But the standoff had already ended.

"It's starting," I whispered.

"**Tangado a chadad**! (Prepare to fire!)" yelled Aragorn.

Down the line, hundreds of Elven archers mechanically notched arrows into their bowstrings. Legolas, too, lifted his bow and readied an arrow.

"Faeg i-varv dîn na lanc a nu ranc. (Their armor is weak at the neck and beneath the arm.)" called out Legolas.

Aragorn called for the elves to release their arrows. The first volley sailed over the Deeping Wall and onto the front line of Uruk-hai. Several fell, but many many more kept charging. More arrows were fired, by men and elves, and lines of Uruks began to fall. The mass ran faster. Some carried ladders and began to raise them to the stone walls.

"Fucking shit!" I cursed, drawing both swords and holding them firmly in hand.

Every soldier on the line now had the same grim expression on their face. Hundreds of swords were clasped in hundreds of hands, some shaking, some clenched resolutely firm. How many would live to see morning?

A ladder hit the wall directly in front of me and I readied my right sword to decapitate him when he reached the top. Sure enough, his head popped up over the wall. I swung Beren's word hard into his neck. While it sliced through easily enough, it was much harder to decapitate an Uruk than an orc, I found. Their necks were meatier, their spines thicker. I switched tactics and chose instead to stab. As Legolas had said, their armour was weak under their arms. I found quickly that the armour around their hips and at their knees was just as light.

Time is measured strangely when you're fighting for your life. It takes only seconds to bring down an opponent. But in those seconds, you've finished a lifetime. And in each second, I'm defending my own lifetime. I was vaguely aware of the larger battle, but every time I tried to think of the others, I had a small battle of my own to face. Every man for himself.

Legolas was fighting close to me. While neither of us interfered with the other's fighting, it was comforting to know that if one of us fell, the other would know immediately. Outside of the battle, I couldn't see how that would be comforting.

I fought to the edge of the wall and peered over. The Uruk-hai were reduced in number, but there was still many. Ten thousand to six hundred! In order to come out even, every man and elf (and she-elf) would have to kill17 Uruks at least. Hundreds of Uruk-hai were storming the narrow causeway to the doors. If they managed to break in that way, then there would be no chance of victory.

Something far more alarming came to sight. The Uruks had placed a bomb at the sewer entrance to the fortress. A single Uruk was carrying many torches and running towards the bomb. The others cheered him on.

"Legolas!" I yelled, "you have to shoot him!" I pointed wildly at the Uruk.

Without question, Legolas launched arrows at the Uruk while I kept the Uruk-hai on the wall from striking his backside.

I heard a loud explosion and the floor ripped up from underneath me, signaling that the fire-laden Uruk had made contact with the bomb after all.

"Fuck!" I yelled as I landed hard on the broken stone below me.

Uruk-hai were now pouring in from below. Our odds of survival had just taken a downturn. If I'd known that Middle Earth had bombs, I might've brought a very big gun. As it was, Aragorn and Gimli had thrown themselves down onto the causeway to slay the Uruks who were trying to ram the doors.

I continued to fight hard. I found that if I kept my swords parallel to each other and swung, I had the best range. I'm going to live, I kept telling myself through gritted teeth. _I will see morning. I will see him again._

Somewhere, I heard Théoden yelling, "Aragorn! Fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!"

I quickly found myself surrounded by Uruk-hai without any soldiers in sight. Legolas was the only fighter on our side in view.

"Celeste!" came Théoden's yell, "get back to the Keep. There's no more you can do out there!"

The shout went through the men to fall back. Haldir, the leader of the elves, was shouting to all the elves in earshot. Unfortunately, by focusing his energy on warning the others, he wasn't paying attention to the battle. I ran over to cover him. He fought an Uruk in front of him, but was in danger of missing the beast that was approaching him from behind.

"Haldir!" I shouted, lunging out and grappling with the Uruk. I landed on my belly and lashed out with both swords, trying to strike his knees. I caught his attention just as he was readying to blow his sword through Haldir's middle.

The Uruk kicked Éomer's sword out of my hand. It went skidding across the stone. As I rolled to retrieve it, the Uruk brought his word down to stab my back. Haldir parried the blow, so that the sword swerved horizontally and only cut. Still, the blade had gone through the light chain mail and dug deeply enough that my back now stung with the Uruk's bite.

I leapt to my feet and drove both swords through the Uruk's face before running into the Keep. From there, the soldiers were shut inside and the gate was braced with timber from the caves.

"Hold them!" Théoden called to Aragorn, Gimli, and I.

"For how long?" asked Aragorn.

"As long as you can give me," Théoden replied, clutching a wound on his arm.

Aragorn made for a side door on the causeway. I glanced around the room, looking for an alternative. There – a window, with a ledge that ran around the building.

"Oi!" I shouted, "over here! There's a ledge that comes near to the causeway."

"Good job lassie," Gimli exclaimed, forcing his burly frame through the small window. Aragorn followed him and I took up the rear.

Quietly, the three of us crept around the side, rounded a corner and came as close as we could to the causeway. It was a long jump.

"C'mon, we can take 'em!" Gimli urged.

"It's a long way," murmured Aragorn.

"Toss me," Gimli whispered.

I raised an eyebrow and Aragorn looked confused.

"I cannot jump the distance! You'll have to toss me!"

Aragorn nodded and grabbed Gimli by the scruff of his chain mail.

"Oh!" Gimli said, "don't tell the Elf."

"Not a word," Aragorn assured him before neatly tossing Gimli onto the causeway where he made quick work with his axe.

Aragorn and I followed, swords drawn. We stood, side by side, blocking the entrance to the door, allowing our friends inside time to strengthen the braces that held the door shut. Together, we fought, killing Uruk-hai as they approached and throwing their bodies over the side of the causeway. I ignored the pain in my back and focused instead on hewing as many Uruks as I could to the ground below.

"Gimli! Aragorn! Celeste! Get out of there!" yelled Théoden from inside.

Legolas lowered a rope to pull us up, but I was reluctant to take hold. If the three of us left the causeway, the door would be hacked open in no time. Deciding that I could not stand alone, I went up the wall with the others. When Legolas pulled me over the wall, he grasped my hand firmly and held it for a moment, "I thought I'd lost you in the battle."

"Nah! You thought ten thousand Uruks could get rid of me?" I joked.

Legolas did not answer, but directed me inside an inner keep.

I heard shouts of "retreat" and "to the keep" coming all around me.

"Fall back, fall back!" yelled Gamling.

I grit my teeth and rushed into the keep with the others just as it was being barred shut. I recognized the room as the main hall. The corridor that led to the caves was just behind us. This was the last layer defending the women and children.

"The fortress is taken," Théoden lamented, "it is over."

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it! They still defend it! They have died defending it!" answered Aragorn, looking incredulous. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" No one answered. "Is there no other way?"

"There is one passage. It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many," answered Gamling.

"Send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance."

Théoden stood stunned in the centre of the room, looking steadily at the pounding door. "So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?"

I couldn't answer his question, for I was having the same thoughts. How could an entire race be so thoroughly evil? How could a race, bred from Elves, have no mercy at all? I was beginning to see the sharp contrast between good and evil that ruled this world. And, for the first time, I was not so sure that I was glad that I was on the side of good. I had failed Rohan. I was supposed to lead them into battle. But here we were, cowering inside the last vestige of safety, waiting for our enemies to take us.

"Ride out with me," suggested Aragorn, "ride out and meet them."

Théoden smiled grimly, his eyes shining with reckless bloodlust, "for death and glory!"

"For Rohan – for your people," Aragorn added.

"The sun is rising," gasped Gimli. Everyone in the room craned their necks to the windows, seeing the first rays of morning come over the mountaintops. There was hope. We had lasted the night. Now if only I could last long enough to see him again.

"Yes. Yes! The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep one last time!" shouted Théoden enthusiastically.

Gimli jumped at the idea and rushed up the stairs to blow the giant horn.

"Let this be the hour when we draw swords together. Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath! Now for ruin! And a red dawn!" shouted Théoden as he mounted his horse.

The horn blew, the sound echoing off the stone walls, giving hope to the riders ready inside.

"Forth Eorlingas!" yelled Théoden as the doors to the hall were thrown open and we all rushed out after the King.

Dior lurched forwards. He must have heard the battle all night. It was fitting that he would now have a chance to be a part of it. Using both swords, I struck down as many Uruks as I could, all the while keeping an eye trained on the horizon. A second light appeared with the sun. Hope!

* * *

Canadians like canoeing

The French like fondueing

The Chinese like kung-fuing

You really should be reviewing!


	13. Chapter 13

Words in **bold** are Sindarin elvish, although I doubt there are any in this chapter. The first POV is Eomer's.

* * *

Below the hill, I saw the flags of Saruman everywhere. Helm's Deep was overrun, but all was not lost. Just outside the hall, I saw riders emerging onto the causeway, making a last stand against the Uruk-hai.

"Théoden King stands alone," I heard Gandalf say, just up ahead.

"Not alone," I countered. I raised my hand into the air and yelled, 'Rohirrim!" Behind me, two thousand riders gathered. I'd done good on my promise to muster riders. Celeste would be impressed, that is, if she was still alive. I'd never seen her fight before, so I had no basis to judge whether she was strong enough to have survived.

"To the King!" I ordered, urging Firebolt into a sharp run. The pair of us, with Gandalf and Shadowfax beside us, led the charge into the Deep. The Uruk-hai were temporarily blinded by the rising sun and we seized the moment to drive our spears through the first line.

I brought both sword and spear through the hearts of every Uruk that dared stand in my path. I was determined to reach the survivors inside.

On the causeway, I saw Théoden leading the charge out of the hall. His horse trampled the Uruks and sent then over the ledge onto the ground, several feet below. Behind him, I recognized Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli – the three travelers I'd met a week before. Behind them, but before the other soldiers, was Celeste. She carried two swords and was slicing into Uruks as she rode.

An Uruk appeared behind her – somehow, the procession had managed to miss one – it reached for her horse and pulled its tail, sending Celeste backwards onto the ground.

* * *

Dior bucked suddenly underneath me, sending me down to the stone causeway. The fall had forced me to reach upwards at a sharp angle in order to keep my swords. The sudden stretch split open the wound on my back, widening the cut. Behind me, I saw a lone Uruk stumbling towards me. He must've grabbed at Dior.

"Fucker," I yelled at him.

"Mind your words, she-elf. I have orders to bring you to Isengard alive," he spat.

"What does a wizard want with a foreigner?" I demanded.

I never got my answer. Éomer had ridden up to aid me and easily dispatched the Uruk in one swift blow. His horse cantered towards me and he reached his hand down to help me up. I took his hand, holding it firmly. Instead of righting me, he pulled me onto his horse in front of him and held me tightly between his arms.

"You're hurt," he said, noting the bloodstains on my back.

"I'll be fine," I said, wincing when his chest came into contact with my back.

"What about the others? I saw Théoden, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. What of Gamling, Haleth, Éowyn, and Théodred?" he demanded, as he rode. By now, most of the Uruks had died and the rest were fleeing into the forests.

"I saw Gamling and Haleth only moments ago. Éowyn is likely in the caves with the other women, though they were told to make for the mountain pass."

"And Théodred?"

"I never met anyone by that name," I answered honestly.

Éomer did not reply directly, but began slaying Uruks with renewed vigor. I supposed then, that Théodred had been close to him.

"Victory!" yelled Théoden, "we have victory!"

The only word that I could come up with in response to that was 'finally.'

"Stay out of the forest! Keep away from the trees!" Éomer yelled to the riders. Once the last of the Uruk-hai disappeared into the strange forest, the trees began to rustle and the screams of the Uruk-hai were heard for miles. The scene reminded me of Birnam wood coming to Dunsinane hill in MacBeth.

Éomer turned his horse around and galloped back into the hall rapidly. Once inside, he brought Firefoot to a stop and jumped down, carrying me in his arms.

I wriggled uncomfortably and complained, "I can walk."

He did not answer, but kept running through the hall and corridors. He did not stop to put me down until we'd reached one of the pantry rooms. He was breathing heavily and wore a panicked expression. His eyes never left my face, making me uncomfortable.

"Éomer, are you alright?" I asked, getting worried.

"Celeste," he murmured, pulling me close to him in a rough kiss. Again, he'd taken me by surprise and, on impulse, I began to squirm uncomfortably. He broke away immediately.

Worried I'd offended him, I brought my lips quickly to his and kissed him properly. He groaned in appreciation and deepened the kiss, pressing me up against the pantry wall. I winced in discomfort, but tried to ignore the pain that was running up my back. Éomer pushed harder as he kissed up my cheeks and ran his hands through my hair.

"Agh," I cried out, pushing him away.

Éomer took a moment to register what was wrong before apologizing quickly and turning me around to see the wound.

He gasped as he pulled through the layers of clothing, "that orc wasn't the most gentle if beasts."

"Haldir and I gave him hell," I answered, gritting my teeth. Éomer was now probing the wound gently with his fingers.

"Haldir?" he questioned, then added, "you've got a couple chain mail links stuck in here. I'll have to get you to a healer as soon as I can."

"Fuck," I answered, "just rip the goddam things out. The healers will be busy with all the other injured soldiers."

"Are you sure?" Éomer asked, hesitating.

"Just go!" I shouted, turning to put my hands against the wall and bracing myself.

"Very well," he answered. He pulled the first link and it came easily. The second was wrapped around a piece of skin and Éomer had difficulty twisting it out. With a painful turn and a sharp tug, it was free.

I bit hard into the collar of my vest to keep from screaming.

"Now who's Haldir?" asked Éomer, trying to distract me.

"The leader of the elves. Lothlórien sent a party of elves to fight with us. He's the one who gave me this sword, I said, holding up Beren's sword. "It was my father's."

"This is Beren's sword?" Éomer asked, taking it from me to examine it. "This is old, very old, but in beautiful condition. The engraving on the hilt looks as if it was carved only yesterday."

"Whatever, it's just a sword," I answered and stiffly walked out of the room towards the hall. Éomer made a motion as if he was going to carry me again. "Don't even try it," I grunted.

* * *

The hall was a flurry of activity, but I found my uncle easily. The colour in his face was back and he looked younger and stronger. Gandalf had obviously released him from Saruman's spell. I was also thankful not to see Grima anywhere nearby.

"You are much improved, Uncle," I greeted.

"And you are most welcome back, Éomer," he answered, clapping his hand to my shoulder.

"It will be good to be home in Edoras again," I answered.

"Yes, there will be a celebration there once all the wounded have been tended to and the dead buried," he answered. Turning to Celeste, he continued, "you, of course, would be my honoured guest. You fight like a man."

Celeste was quiet for a minute. I guessed that she was trying to decide whether my uncle had complimented or insulted her. She evidently decided that it was a compliment and answered, "I'd be happy to go. So long as last night's guests won't be present. I've seen enough Uruk-hai to last me a lifetime."

Théoden laughed and squeezed her shoulder. She winced, as the squeeze had pulled on her injury. "Come, Celeste, we'll find you a healer to bandage your back."

"She was hurt?" Théoden asked, surprised.

"Scratched" Celeste clarified, downplaying the injury.

I led her away from my uncle and into a room off the hall. There, several of the women had emerged from the caves and spread out blankets on the ground for the injured. I sat Celeste down on one of the blankets and a woman rushed to her immediately.

"You must be Lady Celeste! There was talk of you in the caves. You must be very brave. Lady Éowyn said that you were the only woman allowed to fight," the woman introduced, adding in a low voice, "and she was very cross at not being able to fight as well."

I pretended not to hear the last remark and left Celeste in the care of the woman. She was capable and seemed eager to treat Celeste. I supposed that it was some novelty for her. Giving Celeste a quick squeeze of my hand over hers, I went to find Théoden again.

"Will she be alright?" Théoden asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," I answered.

"You've chosen wisely in her. I am happy for you," he said quietly.

I felt my face flush. I had hardly _chosen_ Celeste for anything. Our attraction had just happened. It could have been any other woman thrown into the company of an eored and I would have held the same attraction. _Or would I have? Celeste was… Celeste._ "It is nothing like that," I replied.

"Is it not? I saw how you rushed her away from the dying battle and through the corridors. I may be an old man, but I still recognize what love looks like in a young man's eyes."

He had seen that? The colour in my cheeks deepened. "How did Éowyn fare in the caves?" I asked, changing the subject.

"From what I hear, she kept the women and children calm and even prepared them to make a last stand against the Uruk-hai. She is happier, now, to be in the open air and amongst the men again. She and Celeste are alike," Théoden commented, "perhaps too much alike."

"How many men did you lose?" I asked, surveying the hall.

"Almost half of those who fought. Fewer than I expected to lose. The elves helped a great deal. We are in their debt."

"Do not speak of debts," said a tall, willowy elf who approached us, "we were once allies and our races have fought many wars together."

"Haldir!" my uncle greeted, "many thanks." Théoden bowed his head gently towards the elf, who seemed unfazed by the display.

"I came to inquire about the Lady Celestina – did she survive the battle? There would be great woe amongst the elves if she has passed."

"She lives," I answered, wondering why the conversation kept turning to her, "she is in the next room, being treated for a wound."

Haldir bowed and left to go find her. Meanwhile, Gandalf joined us, with our horses in tow. The three of us mounted and rode out of the fortress and to the top of the hill that my eored had descended only hours before.

In the distance, the Mountain of Fire was visible, belching thick, acrid smoke into the clear air. Behind us, bodies of men, elves, and Uruk-hai leaned on the ground at various angles. So many dead… and for what?

Gandalf spoke, breaking the solemn silence, "Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth is about to begin."

* * *

Metal-heads like tattoos.

Country fans like the tried and true

Other people like the blues.

Fanfic authors like reviews.


	14. Chapter 14

First POV is Celeste's.

* * *

I was in a most compromising position when Haldir of Lothlórien found me. I was in a room with many of the injured from the battle, lying on my stomach. My chain mail had been removed and lay in a pile beside me and the shirts I was wearing had either been removed, split open, or pulled up to my shoulders so that the cut on my back could be properly bandaged.

"Lady Celestina?" Haldir asked, crouching down to my level on the floor.

"Yes," I grunted, craning my neck up uncomfortable to see who I was speaking to. Lynwyn, the healer who was tending to me, pushed my shoulders back down so that the cut would lie straight.

"How are you?" he inquired.

"Just peachy," I spat before remembering that the expression would make no sense to him. "Uncomfortable," I clarified.

"Ah," he said, pausing, "the Elves will be leaving with the party that is to go to Isengard, but will turn, instead, to Lothlórien. You are invited to journey back with us to be with your own kind."

"Sorry Haldir," I answered, "but I was thrown into the world to fight, not to hide. And I was raised as a human – this is my place."

"Nonetheless, you are welcome to visit the woods of Lothlórien. Caras Galadhon is the centre of all the Elven cities and you would be an honoured guest there."

"Thanks," I said as Lynwyn finished cleaning the cut and spread salve onto it. "I'll stop by for a few days when I get a chance."

"Very well then. I will see you again before we leave?"

I nodded my head in agreement and held my body in a push-up so that Lynwyn could wrap a bandage around my body. She stretched the cloth tight, over the wound and across my ribcage, just under my breasts. _Just wonderful_. Lynwyn tied off the last of the cloth and I rolled into a sitting position.

"Try not to stretch your back muscles too much," she instructed as she began pulling my shirts back down to cover my bare stomach. "Come back to change the bandage every day until it is healed."

"Fine," I agreed, standing up. Haldir was long gone, so my next task was to find the room where I'd left my clothes in and change out of my bloody battle clothes. I was only too eager to leave the room full of injured people. I'd felt guilty standing in there with only a scratch on my back, Some of the men had much deeper cuts, broken bones, and dislocated fingers. I was just a gym teacher who couldn't handle herself well enough.

I meandered down the corridor, poking my head into rooms that looked familiar. Sighting my saddle bag, I stepped into the pantry room and closed the door behind me. I first took of my belt and swords, happy to remove myself of their weight. Next, I pulled off my wet pants and changed into dry underwear and dry jeans. I put on a fresh pair of socks and relished the feeling of having dry feet again.

My shirts were going to be a problem. I wasn't supposed to be stretching my back muscles overmuch – what if I just shimmied my way out? I'd definitely have to keep my bra on. At least it was still dry. I managed, finally, to pull a sleeveless tank top on without much of a struggle. I put on a light zip-up sweater on top of it to keep warm. I replaced the swords on my belt, not knowing where else to put them. I put my wet clothes into the satchel and carried it out to the stable to tie it on to Dior's saddle.

In the stable, I met Éomer, who was preparing Firefoot for a short trip. I rubbed my fingers through the battle horse's mane, scratching behind his ears. The horse twisted its head around my wrist and licked my outstretched palm.

"Friendly, isn't he?" I commented.

"Only when he thinks he's being fed," Éomer answered, passing me an apple.

I held it out on my hand with my palm very flat. Firefoot sniffed the treat carefully before taking it whole from my hand. Now that the horse had the apple in his mouth and was chewing happily, I was free to turn my attention to Éomer.

"You're going to Isengard?" I asked.

"Yes, my uncle is leading a party there to reckon with Saruman – the wizard who sent the Uruk-hai," he answered.

"Should I come with you?"

"I would rest easier if you stayed here. We will not be gone long; we'll return before tomorrow evening."

"But it's a dangerous mission. Saruman is a wizard and he has his Uruk-hai. You will need a larger group."

"I do not think so, Celeste. He emptied his fortress of Uruk-hai in sending them here. He will be loosely guarded at most. And we have our own White Wizard to bring along."

"Ah, well then, I'd best get inside and say a more dignified goodbye to the elves."

"More dignified?"

"Yes, Haldir tried to say goodbye while I was on my stomach getting bandaged."

Éomer laughed loudly and clapped his shoulder to mine. My cheeks turned pink with embarrassment. He smiled at me for a moment and moved his hand from my shoulder to my cheek, resting it there a moment. I began to feel uncomfortable and fidgeted with the pocket of my jeans.

"Éomer," I began, breaking the tension, "we shouldn't do this here. Someone might see us."

"And that's a problem?" he asked, pulling his hand away.

"Well, yes it is. We may have won a battle, but we're in the middle of a war. This isn't an appropriate time for any of this…"

"This isn't the appropriate time?" Éomer echoed, interrupting me, "you don't even sound like yourself, Celeste. While I will respect your reasons, whatever they are, I doubt that timing is one of them."

How was I supposed to tell him how I felt about the prophecy and my overall hesitancy to begin a relationship? This was stupid – I felt like a whiny girl, when, really, I was just trying to avoid trouble.

"I'll see you when you get back," I said, turning and leaving the stables to go back inside. If Éomer was getting ready to leave, then the elves would likely be doing the same. I wanted to say my goodbyes as quickly as possible and then find a bed where I could sleep for the rest of the day. Now that the battle was over, my old laziness was returning. I was happy enough not to go to Isengard with the Rohirrim. It meant that much more time that I didn't have to spend on a horse or with a sword in hand.

* * *

_What had that been about?_ Celeste was a riddle in a person. Appropriate time? We both knew that that had nothing to do with anything. I just had to determine whether her reasoning lay in a something or in a someone. I mentally ran through all of the reasons I could think of as to why she would reject me.

_I'm too forward. We're from different worlds. We're different species. The prophecy speaks of doom. She doesn't like me. She is in love with someone else. She's worried one of us might not survive the war. She's still in love with the man who died. _

The list of possibilities was not encouraging. Still, I clung to hope, remembering how she'd kissed me back earlier today.

I turned my thoughts to the journey ahead. Others from the company were saddling and mounting their horses. It was nearly time to leave for Isengard. And I would need my wits about me if I was to be facing Saruman.

* * *

"Haldir of Lothlórien, I bid you and your company a fond farewell," I said, keeping my words formal and doing my best to remain dignified. I seemed to lack the grace of the elves before me, who stood solemnly and beautifully. "I thank you for coming to the aid of Rohan and for standing with the Rohirrim against the powers of evil. I honour those of your company who died protecting free lands. To be strong and free comes at a heavy price. You will not be forgotten."

Had I said everything that I was supposed to say? Would I offend the elves by making such a quick speech? Deciding that a simple gesture was the best way to close my goodbye, I rested my hand on Haldir's forearm and squeezed gently. "Have a safe trip home, my friend," I said, quietly enough for just Haldir to hear.

"Our paths will cross again if the Valar are willing. I wish you and the people of Rohan victory over the greater powers in the East," he answered, bowing his head to me.

The other elves did the same and then, one by one, they turned around and left out the front gate of Helm's Deep to go home. Their timing was perfect, as if they had rehearsed their departure many times. Again, it was painfully obvious that I lacked their grace. Not for the first time since arriving in Middle Earth, I began to wonder if I had made the wrong choice by choosing to be an elf. I fit in neither with the elves nor with the men that I was supposed to be fighting with. While I was sure that both sides gave me respect because of who my parents were, they probably laughed behind my back at every stumble I made.

It was Éomer's sister, Éowyn, who made me feel better. "You sounded very regal just then," she complimented. "Very different from what I've heard of you."

"Has Éomer been telling stories behind my back?" I asked.

"No, it was my uncle who spoke highly of you. He said that you were rough in demeanor and fought like a man. You have his respect. And you have mine – I envy your boldness," she answered.

"You want to fight too?" I asked, interested.

"Yes, very much."

"And here I am, wishing that I didn't have to. You're lucky, you know, that your mother didn't go around making prophecies about you. You can lead your own life instead of following what someone else has set out for you."

"I never thought of it that way," Éowyn said, then added, "but I do not think that prophecies are made to be obeyed by the letter. It is up to us to interpret them as we will."

"And I'd never thought of it that way," I said, holding in a yawn, "but I'm really too tired to keep talking about the philosophy of fate and choice. Is there a bed anywhere that I can borrow?"

"Yes, yes, of course. There are rooms off the West corridor," she said, leading me down a passage and past several doors. She found a door that was open. Poking her head inside, he insured tat the room was empty. "It's small, but it should be quiet."

"You have no idea how grateful I am," I said, giving Éowyn a quick hug before disappearing into the room. In seconds, I'd thrown my sweater to the floor and was under the blankets in my tank top and jeans.

The battle be damned, I thought, like hell I'm waking up before I'm good and ready. With that, I fell into the first dreamless sleep I'd had in many nights.

* * *

I'm too lazy for a poem.


	15. Chapter 15

Note: I realize that some readers are not thrilled by my choice to stray from canon. While I commend them for knowing the version of Beren and Luthien's tale that appears in the Silmarillion, I ask that if readers prefer strict adherence to Tolkien's work, they not bother with reading this story. I am a very literate individual and I have read, in addition to the three Lord of the Rings trilogy novels, the Hobbit, the Silmarillion, and the Unfinished Tales (both 1 & 2) and am, therefore, well versed in the Tolkien legendarium. I am quite aware that Beren and Luthien never had a daughter named Celestina and I am quite aware of the unlikeliness of someone from our Earth 'falling into' Middle Earth. However, this is fanfiction, and a certain amount of creativity is allowed and even encouraged. While sticking to canon characters and storylines is allowed, it is not the rule. The decision to go beyond canon is the author's, not the reader's. Kindly respect that decision. Additionally, I have placed this story in the category of 'Movies' instead of 'Books' because I feel that the movie storyline better allows for the insertion of Celeste's character.

A warm thanks to all of the loyal readers who've given positive feedback. I appreciate it more than you know.

Without further ado - on with it!

* * *

First POV is Éomer's.

* * *

We had learned nothing from Sarumon. Nothing of value. Only that Sauron was powerful, which we'd known, and that he was looking for Celeste, which was surprising. Still, the wizard had fallen before he could tell us why Celeste was of any importance to Sauron or where the next great battle would be.

I was anxious to return to Helm's Deep so that I could sort things out with Celeste as soon as possible. In the morning, the people would be returning to Edoras and there was to be a feast there tomorrow night. I hoped to talk to her privately before the both of us were forced to be in large groups.

Some of the others were speeding up. They, too, wanted to get back into Helm's Deep. While Saruman's army was in defeat, there were still Mordor orcs to watch for. And there was not a man among the company who wasn't anxious to spend time with his family in private before tomorrow's slow journey.

I kicked my heels into Firefoot's side gently to gather enough speed to crest the next hill. I suspected that we were close to Helm's Deep. I couldn't be sure, it wasn't often that I traveled this route, but the hill certainly looked familiar.

* * *

I was woken harshly by Éowyn shaking my side and yelling into my ear, "Celeste, wake up! You've been asleep for almost a day. The men are returning."

"They're here?" I asked, springing up from the bed.

"Almost. And it looks like no one was even injured. It's a miracle! They're just coming over the hill now."

"Ah, very good," I said, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. A stab of guilt ran through my stomach. I'd been callous with Éomer yesterday before he left. I'd even been horrible enough to walk out of a conversation. My stupidity was endless: Éomer was the one person here that I was closest to. Why push him away so roughly? I wished I had better skills with men.

"You need to get dressed, lady," Éowyn decided.

"I have clothes in my saddlebag," I said groggily, stretching my arms gently upwards. My back was feeling much better today. "I'll run down and change into something fresher."

"You do have something more formal to wear for tomorrow night's celebrations?" Éowyn asked, pointing to my jeans with a comical expression on her face.

"Yes, I brought dresses, although I don't think they're any more similar to what you wear here than the clothes I'm wearing now."

"Hmm. Well, get up and get dressed anyway. The men should be arriving just now. And you need to have your bandages changed. Go!" Éowyn said, pushing me out of the room.

As I went down to the stables, I wondered how Éowyn had become my personal assistant. Not that I needed one.

* * *

"We showed them, princeling!" declared Gimli, who clapped his hand on my shoulder. We were the first of the party to return to Helm's Deep. Éomer and the others were still far behind. Technically, we had the advantage that Arod had really only had to carry Gimli, as I was a far lighter load than any of the men.

Arod rode directly into the stable instead of stopping at the city gates. Gimli, who had been preparing to dismount, was jostled into me. When we stopped at the door of the stable, the dwarf was more than happy to return to the ground and leave me to secure Arod to a stall.

"Lassie!" I heard Gimli call at the other end of the stable.

"Gimli, you're all back so soon. Did negotiations go well?" I heard Celeste ask him.

"As well as could be expected. The Ents had already conquered Isengard and Grima killed the wizard soon after we arrived. But we do know that this war isn't nearly over yet. And that Sauron is very interested in –"

"Breeding better Uruk-hai," I interrupted, nudging Gimli in the side. It was not our place to tell Celeste about Sauron's interest in her. That was a conversation she should have with Gandalf or Aragorn.

Celeste eyed the two of us suspiciously. She'd caught the nudge – I should have been more discreet. "I shouldn't stay here long. The others will be getting back. I only came to fetch a change of clothes from Dior's saddlebag."

"Perhaps we could take a walk later?" I suggested.

"I'd like that," she answered.

"Perhaps we could take a walk later?" Gimli echoed once she was out of earshot, "perhaps we could take a walk later? I'd say that you're after more than just a stroll laddie."

"I'd like to get to know the lady better before I 'go after more than just a stroll,' Gimli. But she does have quality," I admitted.

"Aye, she does. With that hair, she might have Dwarven heritage, which would give her quality of the highest kind!" Gimli jested, elbowing me in the side.

I winced, trying not to give away the fact that he was causing me discomfort and embarrassment.

* * *

Before getting changed, I found a bucket of water and a cloth that I could use to do some washing and dragged it up to the bedroom I'd used the night before, along with the satchel Gandalf had given me.

While it wasn't a bath or a good shower, I was able to rinse off some of the grimy feeling of the battle that was left on my skin and rinse my hair enough to feel presentable. I dried off with my dirty shirt and dressed quickly. Yesterday's bandage had fallen off when I rinsed. When I felt the wound, I found that it had scabbed over well enough that it didn't need covering. I'd had enough of tight gauze wrapped around my ribcage.

The next pressing matter was finding Éomer. I had a talent for making things complicated with him and desperately wanted to reach some kind of mutual agreement on what was going on between us. To be honest with myself, I enjoyed being near him. And I enjoyed kissing him even more. But I'd meant what I'd said earlier – this wasn't the time to start a relationship. This was the middle of a war and one of us might get hurt or worse. I didn't want to have another Jeff.

I found Éomer in one of the hallways, talking with his sister. Not wanting to sneak up on them, I called out as I headed in their direction, "Hello!"

They both turned in my direction. Éowyn smiled at me and replied, "good afternoon, Lady Celeste. Or should I say evening – some of the men are having their supper outside. I was hoping to go soon if you'd like to join me."

"Maybe another time. I was hoping to talk with your brother," I answered.

"I'll leave you two alone then," Éowyn said, giving Éomer a nudge in the side. Why all this nudging? Was everyone conspiring without me? I chose not to ask what the nudge had been for and stepped up to Éomer.

"Éomer," I began awkwardly, waiting for Éowyn to disappear out of hearing range.

"Celeste?" he answered stiffly.

"I came to apologize," I admitted, "walk with me?"

Éomer agreed and the two of us made our way out to the outer walls of the fortress. The area had been cleared of the dead sometime yesterday or this morning. I noted with guilt that I had been asleep instead of helping the men clean up the mess that – in all fairness – I'd helped to make. We paused at one of the walls and I leaned against the stonework and looked out on the plains, avoiding Éomer's eyes.

"Have you reconsidered?" he asked, resting his hand on my shoulder. He was tall, well over six feet and towered above my 5'10" frame.

"Not exactly," I started and immediately regretted my words. It sounded as if I was rejecting him again, when that was exactly what I had been trying to avoid. "I was hoping that we could come to an understanding. I meant what I said in the stables yesterday. This isn't the time to start a relationship. We're in a war that we're both expected to fight in."

"You're worried that one of us might not live to see Sauron defeated?" he interjected. He had a way of understanding what I was trying to say and putting it into easier terms.

I relaxed in knowing that we were on the same topic and turned to face him, my back to the wall. "Exactly. I couldn't bear to lose someone else I care about."

"The man from your world?"

"Yes, Jeff."

"It doesn't matter. You've already loved a doomed man – that part of the prophecy has been fulfilled. And even so, the Valar would not have sent you here to your death. We are both good fighters. We will live through this."

"And what if you're wrong and one of us is not so lucky? What if Jeff wasn't part of my mother's prophecy?" I asked, trying to address other, less convenient, possibilities.

"The prophecy wasn't the only thing your parents left for you. You father's sword provides a kind of protection. As does the liquid contained in the charm around your neck," he answered.

I'd almost forgotten about the potion inside my mother's necklace. It could heal any wound. But it could not save someone from death! Éomer sounded so sure, so logical. But I couldn't avoid the uneasiness in my gut.

"There is still a risk," I pointed out.

"There will always be a risk," Éomer said, grabbing my shoulders in his hands and holding me at arm's length. "There is nothing safe in this world. But that is what makes success worth fighting for."

I knew that he was right. But still. "Éomer, I already know what I believe is worth fighting for. Until the battle, I had no reason to fight in this war other than for self-defense. This is not my world and it is not my fight. But it is now. But do you know what I was fighting for?" I asked, "for the chance to see you again and to find out why you kissed me in that village."

"I kissed you because it might have been my last opportunity," Éomer answered, adding, "and I would do it again."

"That's what I mean. Why are we always jumping for last chances and living each day as if it's our last? We have a saying where I'm from – _carpe diem_ – it means 'seize the day.' It made sense to me before, but now, it seems futile and desperate."

"Desperate? Futile?" Éomer laughed, "Taking charge of your own destiny is anything but. If you are in agreement, I would like to carpe the diem myself, while it's still here."

There was no arguing with him – he was too much of an optimist. There was nothing else that I could do but grip his hand and say, "we could give it a chance."

"I was hoping you'd say that," he answered, squeezing my hand back and kissing my lips quickly.

"And what are we going to do about privacy?" I asked when he withdrew his face from mine, "we should be discreet."

"As you wish. But I was hoping to have you at my side during tomorrow night's celebrations," he answered, adding teasingly, "that is, if you're not embarrassed to be seen with me."

"Not at all. I only wanted to be polite."

"You and your manners. They don't become you. Someone who beheads orcs shouldn't worry about saying 'please' and wording her farewells so stuffily."

"You were there?" I asked. I hadn't seen him in the audience when I'd said my goodbyes to Haldir and the elves.

"No, but I heard from Éowyn that you sounded very 'regal'. While I realize that you're a princess of elves, I'd never seen nor heard you acting the part."

"Give me credit for trying," I said.

"I do, but remember – no one is asking for you to give up who you are," he answered.

Which made sense, really. While my ears were pointed and I healed quickly, I wasn't a true elf. There was much more substantial part of me that was very much human.

* * *

Churches need wooden pews

Ladies need pointy shoes

Actors need vocal cues

Fanfic authors need reviews. :)


	16. Chapter 16

First POV is Celeste's. Thanks for the friendly reviews. Long chapter ahead to make up for the wait. :)

* * *

We left early in the morning and made good time in getting to Edoras. Théoden had sent the household staff ahead on horseback so that they could begin to prepare the feast. The rest of us either walked, rode slowly, or were carried in carts. Those who could not be moved remained behind in Helm's Deep with the people who lived there year-round.

I'd hardly seen Éomer at all through the journey, but spent most of it talking with Legolas instead. In the heat of last night's events with Éomer, I'd forgotten to go on that walk with him. However, the trip to Edoras was a long one and we easily made up for lost time. I'd been able to ask Legolas some of the questions I'd been longing to ask about the story of my parents, the culture of the Elves, and the structure of Middle Earth.

"Eru and Illuvatar are one and the same. He is the highest god and the creator of Middle Earth. The Valar are lesser gods, but still very powerful. Varda, the woman you met when you crossed into this world, is a Valar. As is Mandos, keeper of the dead. You will meet him if you take the path of death to the Valinor. Morgoth, the first dark lord of this land, was a Valar also, but fell into evil and cruelty and became something altogether different," Legolas explained. "The Maia are like lesser Valar, but still godlike. Your grandmother, Melian, was one of them. She fell in love with Thingol, an elf-king, and together they ruled over what was once called Doriath. Sauron was also once a Maiar, but, like his master Morgoth, fell from grace and turned to darkness."

"You talk about the history of Middle Earth as if you were there," I commented.

Legolas laughed and corrected, "no, I am not altogether that old. This was many millennia ago, before even you were born. I was born later, making me just over two thousand years old."

I gasped in shock. How could someone so old look so young. By all rules of nature, he should have been long dead and decomposed by now!

"You yourself are more than twice my age, Lady Celestina."

We were interrupted when Dunheld rode up to our side and joined the conversation, "Lady Celeste, I've been looking for you since our eored rode into the battle. Where've you been hiding?"

"I haven't been hiding!" I defended, "I've just been occupied with important things – like catching up on sleeping."

"Aye, I'd agree that that is mighty important," Dunheld replied, nudging my shoulder playfully.

"Of course. Why don't you join us? Legolas is explaining some of the culture of Middle Earth to me. Maybe you can help fill in the gaps," I suggested.

"Gaps?" Legolas echoed, apparently offended that I'd suggested that there could be any incompleteness to his explanation. Then again, he was very old and would likely know much more than Dunheld. But I felt guilty for not seeing Dunheld recently and felt that I had to include him in the conversation. If Middle Earth was to be my new homeland, I'd do well to make some friends.

"Start asking some questions, then. I won't be able to begin from nowhere," said Dunheld.

"Alright," I began, and then asked what I thought to be the most pertinent question, "how did Rohan come to be?" If I was to help defend this country, I had better start feeling some patriotism towards it. And what better way than to learn some of its history?

"Rohan was originally part of the kingdom of Gondor. Eorl, the leader of the Northern Éothéod tribe, aided Gondor on the fields of Celebrant. To reward him, Cirion, the Steward of Gondor at the time gave him the lands to the North of the mountains in exchange for an eternal alliance between the two lands.

"The Rohirrim take the name of Eorlingas after their first King. Eorl lived many years before he was succeeded by his son, Brego. It was Brego who built the Golden Hall of Meduseld and made Edoras the capital of Rohan. That hall has stood for nearly five hundred years," Dunheld said, pointing to a city perched on a hill between two mountains. At the very top of the hill stood a large wooden building. Its roof, painted gold, sparkled in the sun, catching the eyes of the long line of travelers.

"Edoras! We're home!" cried a woman behind me. Newly motivated, the group began to move faster. Everyone was desperate to reach their homes.

From the look of the place, the Uruk-hai had never touched the city. The gate was slightly open, but none of the thatch-roof houses had been torched by invaders. Te roads were still intact and there was no sign of crumbling or attack. Saruman had obviously known where to send his army.

Holding tightly to Dior's reins, I kept speed with the rest of the group.

"I never would have thought you'd enjoy history lessons so much," teased Legolas.

I took a moment to compose my answer, keeping in mind that history often repeated itself and that I was now a part of this world. "After this war is over, I intend to still be a living, breathing citizen of Middle Earth. Knowing its past may give me an advantage in obtaining that goal and will undoubtedly make life here more enjoyable when we finally have peace."

"Hmm. You have the face of a Maiar, the ability of an Elvish warrior, and the mind of an Istari. A complementary mix," Legolas said.

I blushed at the obvious compliment. "You are very generous with your words."

I didn't have the time to say anything more, as we were nearing the gates. I pulled myself onto Dior's saddle and followed those on horseback in the direction of the stables. Legolas did the same, but without a saddle. I must've looked too long at his horse's bare back, because he commented, "Elves don't usually ride with saddles."

* * *

I stood behind my uncle on the pedestal that held the thrones of Rohan. The Golden Hall was lined with tables and filled almost to bursting with the men and women of Edoras, as well as our guests. I tried to keep my face straight while looking for Celeste in the crowd. Because I'd guarded the rear of the party returning to Edoras, I hadn't seen her all day.

Éowyn crept close to the dais and, bowing respectfully, offered a goblet of wine to Théoden. As soon as his hand grasped it securely, she stepped backwards into the crowd and watched as Théoden made the toast.

"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country," he said. He took a shallow sip of wine and lowered his goblet before finishing the toast, "hail the victorious dead!"

"Hail!" echoed the crowd before us. Goblets were raised to the King and, in a wave, the crowd began to sit down or else mill about the room. My eyes met those of Aragorn, who held a serious expression on his face before solemnly sipping his wine. He set down his goblet and moved to his left to speak with Gandalf.

Once he'd moved, I saw Celeste standing behind him. She was wearing a dress obviously made in her own world, for it was unlike anything I'd seen in Middle Earth. It was made of a deep blue material that shone when the light hit her. Instead of the long sleeves that were more common here, her sleeves just covered her shoulders and the tops of her arms. I supposed that her people were freer in their manner of dress, as I'd noted from her insistence on wearing men's breeches and shortened tunics.

Noting that my uncle was engrossed in a conversation with Gamling, I decided that it was safe to leave the dais and go talk to Celeste. I carefully made my way through the thick crowd of people filling the hall and stopped just behind Celeste.

"You look beautiful tonight," I whispered into her ear.

She jumped, apparently not having noticed my presence. "Éomer!" she cried, recognizing my voice. I stepped beside her and joined the conversation she was having with Legolas. He was apparently explaining the origin of the Mearas, the legendary horses bred by my people.

"The first of the great horses was Felaróf, who grew to be tall and strong. Felaróf and his descendants had the lifespan of a man and were even said to understand Rohirric and Westron," explained Legolas.

"Are all of the horses here Mearas?" she asked.

"No, very few are, as the lineages of horses are as valued her as the lineages of our people. Only the ruler of Rohan and his sons are allowed to ride them," I answered.

"So, your horse…?" she asked, inviting me to finish her sentence.

"Firefoot is not. I am the King's nephew, though I was raised as a brother to the King's son, Théodred."

I regretted mentioning my cousin's name. While my grief was still heavy, I chose not to entertain or indulge in those feelings overmuch. And whenever Théodred was mentioned, an uncomfortable hush would fall over all those present. I didn't blame Legolas and Celeste for not knowing what to say. Clearly I didn't as well.

Celeste took the opportunity to slip her hand into mine and squeeze gently. I held onto her hand, keeping her from dropping it back to her side. The little bit of physical connection between the two of us was reassuring.

"I'm sure that Firefoot is just as great as Felaróf," she said, breaking the moment of silence.

"He is," I answered, "I would not trade him for any of the more noble horses in the King's stable. He is a strong horse who does not spook easily and is sure-footed in battle."

I saw Legolas' eyes travel down the length of Celeste's right arm to her palm, which was hidden within my left hand. His eyes rested there a moment before flicking back up to her face. His eyes dimmed and the corners of his mouth relaxed for a second. It was a look of disappointment. While I was sure that Celeste hadn't caught the expression, I had. The elf had given away a most precious secret: he, too, wanted the daughter of Beren and Lúthien.

* * *

After winning the drinking game with Gimli, I retreated to a balcony on the outer edge of the hall and looked out to the stars. It was said by my people that the Valar had taken pity on Beren and Lúthien after they died and had hung them in the stars so that they may watch over their descendants in Middle Earth. Thinking of the legend reminded me of the conversation I'd had with Celeste and Éomer. They were a pair, I was sure of that. I'd seen the way that Celeste had slipped her hand in his when silence fell over the conversation. And he'd held her hand, not wanting to let go. Celeste had obliged.

The last words of Lúthien's prophecy and Gandalf's letter rang in my ears: _the vial will glow purple when you have met your match. History will be repeated once this happens. _Indeed, when I'd met her, the vial had glowed purple. But an entire eored had been present. She'd met Éomer first: I had been narrow-minded to think that, because I was the only elf there, that the purple glow had been meant for me. And perhaps the history that would be repeated was not that of Thingol and Melian, but of Beren and Lúthien herself. There would, indeed, be doom in this match: Celeste was an elleth and Éomer was a man. But it was not my place to separate them and I considered myself fortunate to have discovered their connection before I had become too enamored with Celeste.

And then, from inside the hall, came the object of my thoughts. Celeste moved to stand beside me on the railing and asked, "may I join you?"

"Of course," I answered.

"It's getting very rowdy in there, but it's still so quiet out here," she whispered, "it would seem peaceful, but the air is too still. Like the calm before the storm."

She was right in that. I changed the subject, "may I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," she answered, looking at my face with curiosity.

"Are you in love with Éomer?" I had to confirm what I'd seen before warning her of the relationship's possible consequences.

She paused, stretching the moment into an uncomfortable silence, which she broke swiftly, "I might be. It's only just started."

"Hmm," I sighed. This was disappointing.

"I saw the look on your face when you saw us holding hands," she said, "I pretended not to notice."

"It doesn't matter. I thought that perhaps, because of our backgrounds, that we might match." Seeing the worried expression on her face, I added, "you shouldn't worry. I haven't fallen in love with you. It was merely a convincing idea. The jewel around your neck betrayed me."

"It's not very reliable, is it?" she joked, but neither of us laughed. She took a different approach, "Legolas, we will still be friends?"

"That we will," I agreed, "And comrades in battle, if you will still have me."

"You couldn't get rid of me," she said with a smile.

"That is lucky for me, then," I said and brought the conversation to the warning I'd meant to deliver, "Celeste, your death may be of a different kind."

"What do you mean?" she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously, "you aren't going to try to kill me, are you?"

"No, far from it," I said, "but you could die of a broken heart, in time. You are one of the Eldar and will live to see the end of time and the last great battle. Éomer is a man, in his late twenties already. His days are finite."

* * *

Legolas' words hit my chest with a force that knocked my heart out of beat for a second. He was right, very right. _Was that what Éomer had meant when he'd spoken of risk earlier?_ But I didn't mean to marry him and spend the rest of my life with him. That wasn't what I wanted yet, was it? _Was that how things worked here – three kisses and you're in love and engaged?_ My stomach felt tight, like I was about to vomit. Of course Éomer was doomed. Why hadn't I thought of this before? As far as I could be concerned, every man in this world was doomed.

I steadied my breath and looked at Legolas awkwardly, "I'm going to take some time alone." That's what I needed, some time. Maybe a nice run to calm my nerves and figure out what I would do about this. Without interruptions. "And, please, don't send anyone to follow me," I begged before bypassing the hall and making for my room on the other side of the building.

* * *

I really appreciate CONSTRUCTIVE reviews. If you find a typo, continuation error, or a piece that varies too much from canon, let me know ASAP. While positive feedback is motivating, the more nit-picky stuff helps even more.


	17. Chapter 17

And another one! First POV is Celeste's.

* * *

It felt good to be running again. People here didn't go running for fun. Judging from the size of the people I'd seen so far, the Rohirrim didn't have the same problem with obesity that North America has. Then again, there was no cable in Middle Earth.

Now that I was way from Meduseld, I'd be able to think clearly. I had strong feelings for Éomer. Not love exactly. Just a combination of attraction and likeability, not to be confused with true romantic feelings. Éomer wasn't necessarily a permanent fixture in my life, he was the here and now. A fling. Why get spooked off of him over a difference in lifetimes when it may never matter? And living forever was not a certainty for me – I could still die in battle, of a broken heart, or by suicide. And, maybe, if it went that far with Éomer, I might be able to give up my immortality in exchange for the human life I'd had before.

This was stupid. In any relationship, someone always dies first. Unless both partners are killed together. Death is a normal part of existence. Like Éomer said, there is always a risk: risk that the other might die before you.

And what was with Legolas? There was something between us. He wanted to be friends, which was fine. But I'd seen the way he'd looked when he saw that Éomer and I were holding hands. Like I'd broken something inside him. Maybe I was being too romantic and giving Legolas a bigger role in this dilemma than he deserved. He'd said himself that I was only a 'passing hope'. Maybe I was even giving Éomer a bigger part than he deserved.

And maybe when this war is over, I can go back to teaching gym in Toronto. It was a preposterous thought. I understood shellshock now; how can someone go back when they've seen so much of the other side? How could I go about the mundane routines of my former life while knowing that there exists meaning, courage, and passion a world away? I couldn't leave Middle Earth, even though I'd spent so little time here.

It might have been the culture, the landscape, or the very war that was tearing at its throat, but Middle Earth felt more real than any place I'd ever known before. It was solid, but made of life and love. And there was a presence and a sense of history that I'd never felt, not even when I'd traveled through Europe. It was older and denser than that. Gods and Men had both walked on the land that I was running across right now, just outside the open gate of Edoras.

And that was when I saw the encampment.

There were roughly thirty orcs, most gathered around a small campfire that was hidden in the trees. I was surprised that I hadn't seen the smoke from the balcony when I'd spoken to Legolas. But maybe I'd been too distracted by the topic of conversation.

I reversed course and stepped back lightly, hoping that the orcs hadn't seen me. I'd left both of my swords in my room with my spare clothes. _Fucking shit_. I took a chance and turned around to run back into the city. I'd be able to close the gate from inside and get to Meduseld to warn the others. Thirty orcs was hardly a formidable army, but they could cause damage to houses and stables.

Right as I turned, I nearly walked straight into an Uruk. No doubt he was their leader, and, by his victorious shouts of "the she-elf," he'd been looking for me.

I'd lost any advantage when the Uruk had shouted for the others, but lost no time in delivering a hard punch to the beast's nose. It hit and black orc blood rushed over my fingers, making them stick together. I kicked the Uruk in the ribs, winding him. Taking this as an opportunity for escape, I ran for the gate, screaming in hopes that someone would hear me. "Orcs! Outside the gate! Help!" I shouted, "help!"

But it did me no good. I may have been a gym teacher and a track coach when the school needed one, but I wasn't a fast runner. Distance was my strength. The Uruk righted himself easily and overtook me in seconds, wrenching my hands behind my back painfully.

"Tie her up boys! We're taking her to see the Eye by orders of the Wizard!"

But Saruman was dead, I thought as my hands and feet were bound with rough rope. The orcs put out their fire and scattered its ashes around to hide the evidence of their camp. The Uruk picked me up and threw me over his shoulder before beginning to run. The band of orcs followed closely behind, sneering at me as they struggled to keep up with their leader.

Taking a run tonight had been the stupidest thing I'd ever done. Why had I gone outside the gate? Why couldn't I have just stayed on the dirt roads within the city walls?

* * *

The ale was beginning to get to my head. I felt warm, happy, and only slightly dizzy. In fact, I was in the perfect mood for giving Celeste another kiss. I glanced around the room looking for her. She wasn't with Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Gandalf, Dunheld, Éowyn, Théoden, or anyone else. I'd have recognized her dress anywhere in the room. Everyone else wore green or gold, the colours of Rohan, or the dirt brown of armour of traveling clothes.

She might've been tired and gone to bed early. Still, it was best to check with some of her friends. I approached Dunheld first, "Rider!"

"Yes, Lord Éomer?" he asked, apparently slightly alarmed at my drunken state.

"Have you seen my Celeste?" I asked, "I seem to have lost her."

"No, not since earlier this evening," he answered.

Perhaps she had gone to bed. But I wanted very badly to kiss her, so I approached Aragorn and Legolas who were talking quietly on a balcony, "Have either of you seen Celeste?"

"No," answered Aragorn immediately.

"I talked with her an hour ago," Legolas admitted.

"And? Did she go to bed?" I asked.

"I doubt it. She wanted to be alone. We'd been talking and, I'm afraid, she was upset. I thought that I should let her go, but then I saw her running out of the hall dressed differently."

"Why didn't you tell me?" I said, nearly yelling.

Legolas winced slightly. "She asked that I not send anyone after her."

I cursed loudly and turned to find the exit of the hall so I might go find her and figure out what was wrong this time. Instead of making my way easily through the door, I was assailed by a rider running wildly into the building.

"Lord Éomer!" he shouted, recognizing me.

"Yes?!" I yelled, facing him squarely.

"There's a band of orcs outside the city walls. I heard a lady shoutin' for help out there. I couldn' do anything fer her myself, so I ran up 'ere as fast as I could."

I felt my face whiten and the blood drain away from my cheeks. The drowsy effects of the alcohol left my body entirely and were replaced by sudden alertness. If Celeste was in danger, I had to go to her.

"Are they still there?" I demanded, grabbing the man by the shoulder.

"I dun' think so. I heard mighty big footsteps, like they was runnin' away."

"Did they take her with them?" asked Legolas, taking the man's free arm.

"They might've," the man said, "but more likely they killed her."

"Why? Did you hear her scream?" I yelled. My hands were shaking, causing me to pull the drunken man back and forth by the sleeve of his shirt.

"I heard her scream, but not like she was dyin', sir. I'm just sayin', that's what orcs do. They dun take prisoners, do they?" he asked Aragorn stupidly.

"It's possible," Aragorn said and then, noting the man's attire, asked, "why were you out by the gates anyway? You're not a guard."

"I was takin' a piss," he answered, then added in a hushed tone, "I wanted to farther from where the ladies were, ya know?"

"How savoury," Aragorn commented.

"If we get to our horses, we'll be able to follow," I said, grabbing hold of my sword.

"No, Éomer. We will need more men if we are to rescue Celeste properly. If the orcs have taken her prisoner, she will be alive for a few more days yet. And I will be able to follow their tracks easier in the daytime. The orcs have no love of the sun. We'll be able to attack while they are weak," Aragorn suggested.

I knew that what he was saying was meant to sound like logic, but I heard the words like a death sentence. What if we were too late?

"Should we not go down to the gate?" Legolas asked, "to make sure that she was taken, and not… killed?"

Aragorn nodded grimly and asked the drunk man to tell the King what had happened. As soon as this was done, the three of us ran down the steps towards the city gates, hoping that we would not find Celeste's body there.

* * *

My bow and quiver had lain on the floor of the room I had for the night, ready to go, for hours. I paced the room, hands folded behind my back. I would not sleep easily tonight. For Éomer, I doubted there would be any sleep at all. While I had felt envy for him only hours before, I only felt pity for him now. He was connected to Celeste more deeply than anyone else in this world, though he'd known her for just over a week.

We'd been fortunate not to find a body outside the gates. The drunk man had been right, she hadn't been killed there. From what Aragorn could see of the marks on the ground, Celeste had come across a camp of over two dozen orcs. She'd tried to escape and there'd been a struggle. Her tracks ended and the tracks of a larger orc, probably an Uruk, deepened with added weight. She'd likely been tied up and carried off by the group. There hadn't been many and they didn't have horses. We could catch up with them easily enough on horse in the morning. Assuming that they hadn't killed her.

In my heart, I suspected that the Dark Lord wanted her just as much as we did. She was a powerful figure with strong lineage. Descended from the Maiar – just like Sauron himself. The orcs would dare not harm her unless Sauron ordered it. Which was unlikely. I shuddered to think of the torture she might face in Mordor if she did not comply with the Dark Lord.

We had to find her.

* * *

The night didn't seem to end. I sat on my bed with my sword, Guthwine, in my hand. I was ready to fight. Why wait until morning? I doubted I'd sleep tonight either way. Celeste was out somewhere in Middle Earth, in the custody of foul beasts. And I could do nothing about it until the morning sun rose and Aragorn was convinced that their trail was trackable.

How I wished very badly that I could have gotten that kiss.

* * *

Cliffhanger!


	18. Chapter 18

First POV is Celeste's.

* * *

The orcs ran fast, not stopping until the sun began to rise in the East. But when the first rays of daylight appeared on the horizon, the orcs flew into a panic. The lone Uruk was unfazed.

"Malhok, we need to make camp!" shouted the closest to the Uruk in charge.

Malhok growled in displeasure, but pointed to a nearby mountain. "There will be caves on the other side of that mountain. Can you lazy maggots make it in time?"

"Yes, yes!" chorused the orcs, who ran with renewed vigor towards the caves.

It was the first time we had strayed from the straight path that the party had been following. If the others were trying to track me, they might miss this turn off and keep following straight to Mordor. I had to try to leave some sort of marker for the men to follow. My hands were bound and I was dressed lightly in running gear. My options were limited.

I'd French-braided my hair earlier to keep it out of my eyes. Impatient with the long braid slapping against his back, Malhok had swung it over so that it hung down over my left shoulder. The elastic that held the ends together was the only thing in reach that would come detached easily. While Malhok's attention was on the mountains, I wriggled the elastic free and let it drop to the ground below us. It was small and went unnoticed by the orcs. I could only hope that anyone sent after me might pay better attention.

That is, if anyone knew where I'd been last night and bothered to go after me. I remembered grimly how no one had answered when I'd screamed for help just outside the gate. The city guards had probably been in the hall, trusting that orcs wouldn't attack Edoras after their defeat at Helm's Deep. A small party of thirty was easy enough to miss if no one was looking for it.

The orcs reached the caves with enough darkness left for them to set up a small blockage of tree branches to hide the entrance of the cave. They started a small fire and left a handful of orcs to guard the entrance. Most went to the back of the caves to eat at their bread and get some sleep while they waited out the day. Some were talking amongst themselves. They had a horrible, dirty language. Their words were rough with harsh consonants and grumbling vowels.

By their conversation, I gathered that they thought that I couldn't understand them. How many elves knew the Black Speech? But Varda had given me the gift of languages before she had sent me to Rohan and I understood their candid conversation perfectly.

"The Great Eye will be most pleased: we've captured the she-elf without a fight. And with no witnesses – we shan't have any nasty men following us to Mordor," said the first orc.

Another shook his head and argued, "why are we hiding away in a cave? Malhok's being too careful. I think he suspects that we'll be followed."

The first orc answered his query, looking over to me, "the Wizard spoke of a prophecy about a young man in _love_." He pronounced the last word with obvious distaste.

"That's right!" agreed a third orc, "if the stupid man thinks he is in love, he may hunt for the she-elf."

"He won't find us," decided the first orc, "even a Ranger could never find the entrance to this cave. We cleaned out our campfire, didn't we boys? And we turned off the path. If any men do follow, they won't stand a chance!"

I tried not to show any emotion at that statement, lest the orcs guess that I could understand their talk.

"They won't get far, they'll be summoned to Minas Tirith to defend their kind soon enough. The first battalions are already marching there. They'll retake Osgiliath tonight," announced the second orc.

"And then the City!" cackled the third orc.

Minas Tirith! That was the capital city of Gondor and the centre of Men in Middle Earth. If the White City was lost, the war would be over in days. The orcs would use the city as a base and invade every settlement near it. Dol Amroth, Rohan, the Elven kingdoms, and the country to the North would be lost to the enemy. If only I could escape, I could warn the others where the next battle would be. They might have enough time to get ready for a siege.

* * *

We took fifty men with us at dawn. Aragorn had bent down and examined the remains of what might have been the orc party's campfire. They'd left the city wall in the direction of the North-South road.

I'd eventually found a couple hours of uncomfortable sleep that night. I'd been tempted to sleep in the stables with Firefoot, to make a start that much earlier. Aragorn would certainly have been against that particular idea. When I thought more about it, it seemed stupid and shirt-sighted. While I might have been ready earlier, I would still have to wait for the rest of the men. Men who needed to sleep as much as I did. And after the strange happenings last night between the hobbit Pippin and Saruman's palantir, I doubted if anyone in Meduseld had slept soundly. As soon as we returned, there would be a meeting of leaders to decide what our next move would be.

I'd packed Celeste's swords and tied her saddlebag to Firefoot's side along with another bag containing a warm cloak. The March air was still cool North of the White Mountains and Legolas had told me that she had took off running in a short tunic and loose leggings that stopped at the knee. She might as well have left Meduseld naked.

We rode for several hours on the road, keeping an eye out for signs that the orcs may have strayed from the path. We passed streams, mountains, and grasslands.

And then, without warning, Aragorn reared Brego and stopped the group. "We've gone too far," he decided, "there aren't any more tracks along the road. And the grass isn't trampled anymore."

He dismounted his horse and reversed his course on foot, paying careful attention to the ground. "Be quiet, I believe we are close to their camp."

I heard Legolas cry out next, "here! I've found something." He held up a ring of red fabric. I recognized it immediately as one of the ties Celeste used in her hair.

Aragorn took it and sniffed it. "It doesn't smell of blood. She's probably still alive. She might have left it as a marker that the orcs had changed their course. By the time they'd got this far, the sun must have begun to rise. Where would they camp? Éomer, you know this territory better than I do."

I scanned the surrounding area. The largest stretches of shadows were along the mountains. There were only scattered clusters of trees nearby. Nothing large enough to offer shelter for orcs. The mountains then were the best choice. "There might be caves. They would have hidden in the mountains. After the battle at Helm's Deep, I doubt that trees would offer any shelter to soldiers of Sauron."

* * *

I pretended to sleep, which kept the orcs on low guard. A sleeping captive wasn't a threat, particularly when surrounded by thirty captors. Malhok the Uruk kept awake at the cave's entrance. I hadn't heard him move for several minutes. He was either resting or in deep concentration. I decided against opening my eyes to check – it would crumple my façade of sleepiness.

I heard the whinny of a horse outside. It was faint and obviously came from a great distance, but it meant that someone was nearby. Someone that might be looking for me. Footsteps came next. What if the men couldn't find the entrance to the cave? I had to be prepared to make some noise if that was the case.

Yelling wouldn't do. And I didn't have anything on me to throw. Maybe there were rocks on the cave floor. I pretended to stretch in my sleep, drawing out my arm and bringing it back to my side, dragging it across the dirt. I felt something about the size of my fist catch in the crook of my elbow. I brought it to my middle. Pretending to bring my arms closer to my middle, I slipped the stone into my pocket. To finish the act, I let out a light snore and tried to relax my muscles as best as I could.

The orcs didn't catch my act. Instead, some were moving about restlessly in the cave. I heard a twitch from Malhok and all movement ceased. He'd probably asked them to be quiet. Which meant that the men were very near. I wriggled my middle to let the stone out of my pocket to the floor. Acting as if I was just waking up, I stretched and opened my eyes. The orcs had unbound my feet when they'd put me on the floor and I was able to stand stiffly.

Seeing me move, all of the orcs turned to look at me. _Now what?_ I had to kick the rock out the cave entrance, past the tree branches so that the others would find the cave entrance. Not easily done when everyone was looking at me. What if I pretended the kick was an accident? Deciding that was the best idea, I stepped forward and stumbled, kicking the stone with as much force as I could. It scuttled across the floor, past the orcs, and shot out the cave entrance, just beneath the tree branches.

Shouts outside confirmed that I had been right. The orcs all stood up and drew their odd-shaped blades. Sensing a battle, Malhok grabbed me roughly and held me in front of him with his blade at my throat.

Aragorn was the first person to enter the cave. He was followed by several more men, all Rohirrim. Éomer was with them. I smiled when I saw him.

"Celeste!" he cried, rushing towards me.

Malhok tightened his grip on me and shouted to the men, "drop yer weapons or the she-elf dies."

"Don't!" I shouted immediately. Damn, I sounded just like the girl in the action movie who was stupid enough to let herself be taken hostage. Memories of hundreds of clichéd movies passed through my mind. What should they have done? I tried to kick back at Malhok, but he moved out of the way too quickly.

"Try that again, she-elf, and the Horse King's heir will be the first to die," he growled into my ear. His breath was hot and disgusting. It smelt of rotten meat and the worst sort of morning breath. Even though he hadn't slept a wink for at least a day. _He must be exhausted_. That realization spurred my next idea. If the Uruk was too tired to hold me up, his concentration might drop if I became dead weight. I winked furiously at Éomer, trying to convey my idea to him. He showed no signs of understanding. Still, I had to try.

"Oh… God," I sighed loudly and weakly before pretending to faint in the Uruk's arms. As I predicted, his gaze followed me to the ground and his sword broke away from my neck.

While, because I was an elf, I didn't weigh much, the distraction was enough to divert Malhok's attention. Éomer threw his sword in between my neck and Malhok's arm and knocked the blade out of the Uruk's hand. It clattered, useless, to the floor. Immediately, fighting ensued between the Rohirrim and the orcs. Malhok dropped me to the floor and began to sneak farther back into the cave. I found his blade on the floor and used it to cut through the ropes that bound my wrists.

As soon as I was free and standing, Éomer threw me Beren's sword and I joined in the fight. I ran into the back of the cave, wanting to slice the Uruk apart myself. My footsteps rang loudly against the hard stone floor, giving away my presence.

In the time it had taken for me to free myself, Malhok had armed himself with a flaming stick from the fire. He swung it at my face. Reacting immediately, I swung my sword up to meet it. Sparks flew into my hair, singeing a few strands. Angrily, I tried to knock the torch out of the Uruk's hand. My swing was weak – I'd been bound on the floor too long. Malhok easily fought back my blows and the two of us circled each other.

I stepped around him, towards the rear of the cave. Malhok lunged to try and knock my head against the cave wall, but stumbled forward, landing on his face. In his back were three arrows in a perfect triangle. Legolas had shot him down from the cave's entrance. He looked me in the eye and nodded politely to me. I bowed my head in silent gratitude and stepped over Malhok to get away from the back of the cave.

Éomer grabbed me around the waist and lifted me into his arms. "That was a clever maneuver. But you could've been killed."

"There's always a risk," I answered as stoically as possible.

* * *

Constructive reviews are wonderful! Typos, story errors, flow problems, characterization, etc.


	19. Chapter 19

First POV is Eomer's. This might be the last post for the weekend, as I will be away.

* * *

Always a risk. The phrase echoed through me. I'd uttered the same words such a short time ago, but, instead of days ago, it felt like many years had passed. Years worth of battles, worry, and uncertainty that had taken place in mere hours. Would the rest of my life constantly be measured by battles?

"Why did you run away from the celebrations?" I demanded. She was in my arms and could not escape the question. I didn't care how many other men were around and could overhear our conversation.

"I didn't run away," she answered, "I just went running. To clear my head. I had every intention of coming back. But I should have stayed within the city walls. It was stupid of me to go outside the gate."

"Not exactly 'stupid', but it wasn't a good idea, Celeste. It won't be safe for you to leave the city walls until long after this war is over and every orc in Mordor lies dead on the ground."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, squirming in my arms. She obviously wanted to be put down. I loosened my grip and lowered her to the cave floor.

None of the men had been injured during the skirmish and it was easy enough to get everyone back on horses to ride back to Edoras. The sun was still rising, which meant that it wasn't mid-day yet. We'd be back in Meduseld in time for the evening meal.

* * *

Like I had the first day we'd met, I rode behind Éomer atop Firefoot. He'd asked if I wanted to ride in front, but I'd refused, taking the rear instead. I didn't think I could bear to have him looking at me all the way to Edoras. I felt guilty for being captured so easily and for making so many men have to leave their homes to come looking for me. While Varda had been cryptic about her reasons for sending me here, I was sure that playing the 'damsel in distress' wasn't part of my mission. Whatever it was.

Still, I now knew where the next battle would be: Minas Tirith. Éomer had told me that there would be a council tonight to decide what to do next. I would present my findings there.

It was a long, stiff ride. No one said much of anything. Éomer tried a few times to make conversation, but I didn't feel like talking – not when half an eored was guarding us.

I had spent a long time in the cave thinking about my predicament with Éomer. Legolas had been right, and he'd tried to explain things as gently as possible, which was commendable for someone in his position. But there was no denying the eventual reality that Éomer would die – most likely long before I died. And while that wasn't an immediate threat as we weren't in love, or engaged to be married, it was still a dark shadow brooding on a distant horizon. It would do no good to grow too attached to Éomer; in the caves, I had almost made up my mind to stop the romance between us.

But, when I'd seen him again, I'd changed my mind instantly. There was a genuine warmth in him. A new-age follower might have said that he had an 'aura'. I wasn't sure if I believed that, but I knew that Éomer had a quality to him that attracted me. I'd felt it when we'd sat talking at campfires, when I'd seen him after the battle, and when we'd held hands at the feast. I liked him, and there was strong possibility of something more developing. I wasn't ready to give up yet. There was nothing permanent about our relationship or our situation – perhaps we'd outgrow another in time. For the moment, I was determined to take advantage of and enjoy present circumstances.

With that thought in mind, I tightened my grip of Éomer's waist and leaned into him. I felt him bristle at the closer contact, then relax. He turned his head to the side and whispered, "are you feeling well again?"

"Very much," I answered, squeezing his middle and not caring who in our company might see.

* * *

We returned to Edoras before supper, as I had predicted. Celeste had held tight to me for most of the ride home; not out of fear, but out of tenderness and a want to be closer. While I was sure that many of the men could plainly see the nature of our relationship, she'd held tight anyway. I guessed that, in her own way, she was publicly showing her acceptance of me. It was the approval I'd been waiting for.

After supper, I'd led her off to the rear balcony. It was quieter and more private. Only two guards stood on this piece of wall. When we'd walked in, they'd promptly turned away from us and walked to the opposite end of the balcony to keep watch there. I made a mental note to thank them later for the increased privacy.

Celeste had been quiet for most of the meal, offering few words to the group about her capture. She was likely leaving her explanation for later.

"Thank you for coming after me. You didn't have to," she said, sliding her hand into mine.

"Of course I had to!" I answered, a little louder than I'd meant to. Was she completely oblivious to how loyalties were made? "I will always come after you, if you wish it."

"I hope that there will never be a need again," she answered.

I took the opportunity to step behind her and hold her there, against the balcony wall. Her hair was loose and blew softly about in the wind. Stray red locks kissed and mingled with my own hair in the breeze. The colours of fire and sun complemented each other well and their warmth fit the moment.

She began to turn around in my arms to face me. There was a moment of silence before she stood high and bent upwards to kiss me. I welcomed the touch of lips, and brought my head down to a more comfortable angle. Instead of stopping, Celeste continued the kiss, parting her lips to allow my tongue into her mouth. And then, despite the chill of the night, I felt very warm. It was not the heat of lust, but of something else, something far more dangerous: love.

I heard the cough of one of the guards and took that as my cue to end the kiss. I turned behind me to see a third guard at the doorway.

"The King and the Wizard invite both Éomer and the Lady Celestina to attend a council of special importance."

I saw Celeste wince at the use of her full name and tightened my jaw to suppress a smile of amusement. After the council, when we both had some time to ourselves, I would confess my new feelings to her. But, at present, we were both needed in the King's Hall. I let go of Celeste and the two of us followed the messenger away from the balcony.

* * *

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring," announced Gandalf. Everyone in the room seemed to sigh collectively in relief, myself included. Everyone in the room had just been briefed on the story of Frodo and Sam, the two Halflings who'd taken the One Ring into Mordor to destroy it. While, to my North American judgment, it seemed foolish to send two such small creatures into the heart of enemy territory, Gandalf seemed convinced that secrecy and small size were the hobbits' greatest strengths. A large army would surely be noticed by the enemy, but two creatures the size of children might go unnoticed long enough for them to bring an end to the war. Still, as Éomer had aptly put it yesterday, there is always a risk.

"We've been strangely fortunate. Pippin saw in the Palantir a glimpse of the enemy's plan. Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith," Gandalf continued.

"How is that possible? The last battle was less than a week ago," cried out Legolas.

I took this as my opportunity to speak up, "Pippin was right. Even now, orc battalions are moving to Osgiliath and Minas Tirith." To clarify, I added, "I found out when I was being held captive."

"Why would the orcs tell you of their plans?" questioned Hama.

"They didn't – not exactly – I overheard them in their own language, which I understood. When I arrived, Varda gave me the gift of languages. The orcs didn't know this and thought that a barrier of speech concealed their talk from me," I explained.

Éomer gave me an annoyed look as if to ask why I hadn't told him. I had no answer for him. I could very well have told him on the way here, but with so many men, I didn't think that it would be wise. And I could have told him on the balcony, but I'd been… distracted.

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing. He knows the Heir of Elendil has come forth, Men are not as weak as he supposed. There is courage still. Strength enough, perhaps, to challenge him. Sauron fears this. He will not risk the peoples of Middle Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of men," Gandalf continued.

If the enemy was as strong as Gandalf implied, the people of Gondor would stand no chance if they fought alone. Divided, the men of Middle earth were weak, easy targets.

Confirming my thoughts, Gandalf finished, "If the beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."

I nodded in agreement, expecting everyone in the room to agree with the wizard's proposal. If all of the peoples of Middle Earth fought as one, there would be a chance of defeating the enemy.

But Théoden was not as accommodating as I'd thought he would be. "Tell me! Why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?"

How dare he! What right did he have to enable the defeat of another kingdom of men? I would not let that remark go unchecked. "Tell me, Théoden-king, what difference it makes to Sauron whether the men he slays come from Gondor or Rohan?"

I felt Éomer's warning touch on my arm. I was being rash, but I didn't care. "What did Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, or I owe you when we came to fight at Helm's Deep? Nothing! When the enemy is finished with Minas Tirith, he will turn North and trample every man in his way to the ground. And what allies will you have left, then, King? To turn away now is foolishness – the only chance Rohan stands against the enemy is if they join with Gondor and renew their pledge to come to each other's defence."

"And what does a she-elf know of the affairs of men and the province of war?" demanded Théoden.

"I know that I was not taken from my home and brought here so that I may wait behind thick walls for an enemy to come at my throat while I am weak! If I have to die here, then I will run out to meet my death with all of the dignity that I have left. I would not cower from my fate as you are suggesting."

Théoden looked as if he wanted to slap me, but I did not care. In fact, I invited it. If he was stupid enough to lay a hand on me, he would show his true character to everyone in the room.

"I will go," declared Aragorn, snapping the tension in the room.

"No!" argued Gandalf.

"They must be warned," Aragorn answered, clearly torn between his mentor and his people.

"They will be," Gandalf assured the room, "I ride for Minas Tirith and I won't be going alone." I followed the wizard's gaze to Pippin the hobbit, who'd been sitting on a chair and watching the council from the sidelines.

With that final decision, the room began to empty. Théoden did not look me in the eye as he walked past me to get out the door. It seemed that the respect I'd earned from him at Helm's Deep was gone and replaced with the animosity of a child who had just been scolded. I didn't care. I knew that I was right. If he was stupid enough not to see it, then he deserved his fate.

"Why did you do that?" asked Éomer. We were now the only two people left in the room.

"He needed to hear it," I answered, knowing that I sounded childish and stubborn.

"Yes, but now I am caught between my uncle and king and the woman that I love," he said before leaving.

His words tasted bitter in my mind. He was right – I had put him in an uncomfortable position. But there was something else, he had said that he loved me.

* * *

I like my warm sweater.

I like the Irish Setter.

I like having no debtor.

I like reviews even better. :)

(But I prefer the kind that points out character flaws, typos, story snags, etc.)


	20. Chapter 20

Felt like writing a bit more today. :)

First POV is Celeste's.

* * *

The days passed by slowly in Edoras. I avoided the king at all costs and saw Éomer infrequently. He wasn't exactly angry with me, but our relationship had obviously been strained. Even the others, Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas, gave me a wider berth than normal and said little to me during meals. Éowyn, who perhaps loved Théoden best of all, hadn't spoken to me since I'd returned.

Once, yesterday, when I'd been in the same room as the king, our eyes had locked briefly and the entire room had seemed to tense up around us, as if expecting us to come to blows. But, instead of anger or hatred, I saw only pity in Théoden's expression. From that moment, I'd been determined to talk with him and try to resolve our dispute, at least for Éomer's sake. And if I had to make an apology, so be it. I had been rough with Théoden and not shown him respect where it was due. Now, in the hazy light of the 'morning after', I saw that he only wanted to protect his people. He just didn't realize that, sometimes, the best defense is a good offense.

I chose a time in the evening to go to the King's throne room. It was relatively deserted; along with the king, there were only a handful of guards, Aragorn, and Éowyn. I would have to make my peace with Théoden in front of them.

I swallowed my pride and stepped towards the king's throne. Everyone in the room watched with interest as I began the awkward conversation with a bow. "Théoden-king, may I have an audience?" I asked.

Théoden regarded me solemnly for a moment before speaking, "I suppose that it is time we speak. The city has been on edge waiting for this moment." To the others in the room, he shouted, "leave us."

Within seconds we were alone, standing opposite each other on the dais.

"I was hoping that we could settle our differences and reconcile. This fight is straining many of my friendships," I ventured.

"Aye, that it is. Éomer is most troubled about our quarrel," he answered.

"Éomer?" I asked, wondering what Théoden knew about that.

"He is taken with you, which is none surprising. You are an honorable woman, though it may serve you to show respect on occasion. Yet, quarrelling with the daughter of Beren and Lúthien reflects poorly on my rule. I, too, would like to end this conflict."

I blushed and looked at the wood floor for a moment before gathering my words, "I am sorry to have been so harsh in front of the council," I began, "but, be assured, my convictions remain the same."

"I didn't expect you to change your mind. It has taken me some time in thinking over your arguments, but I am beginning to believe that there was some merit in your strategy. But my first concern is to protect my people."

"Without the help of the Gondorians, your people won't survive this war," I said. "Sometimes, to defend your homeland, you have to send men abroad to ensure that the fighting does not reach your doorstep."

"Well put. But I do not believe that the Rohirrim wish for further conflict."

"If you'll forgive me for saying so, I don't think they'll have much choice in the months to come. If they do not go to the fight, the fight will come to them."

"I think we are beginning to understand each other, Lady Celeste. I cannot give you a decision at the moment, but I will consider your strategy," Théoden consented.

"Thank you," I said, "but I hope that you will not think too long while Minas Tirith burns."

Théoden nodded in understanding a rested his hand on my shoulder, "I wish I'd known you longer, lady. You are as wise and powerful as any man with the grace of a woman. You truly are a blessing."

I hadn't expected to hear such kind words from the king and did not know what to say. Complimenting him in return would seem scripted and tacky, so I opted instead to thank him with another bow.

"Now," Théoden said, stepping down from the dais, "if there is one thing I have learned in my many years as King, it is that appearances matter to a populace. Come out with me onto the balcony. I am sure that the others will want to see that we are both alive and haven't gone at each other's throats."

I smiled at the joke and agreed. Together, we walked towards the balcony to overlook the city. "I half-expected that it might come to that," I admitted.

"Never," Théoden answered. I was beginning to see where Éomer inherited his character. "But I would like to see you at my table for tonight's meal."

"I would be honoured," I answered, remembering my manners.

* * *

I was out on the balcony with Aragorn. Since returning from Celeste's rescue, the three of us, including Gimli, had been listless. We should have left for Gondor at the fist sign that the enemy would be marching there, but Mithrandir had ordered us to stay in Rohan's capital.

"Legolas," Aragorn called to me.

I looked up from where I sat, making arrows. "What is it?"

"Look who is approaching," he said, pointing towards the entrance to the hall.

Celeste and Théoden emerged, deep in conversation. So, there was peace between the two of them at last. Finally. The soldiers in the city had been torn for days between loyalty to their king and agreement with Celeste. It was in the Eorlingas blood, the Rohirrim could sense a battle that was months away. The riders were just as restless as we were. Word had spread of the battle creeping on Minas Tirith and most of the riders expected to be involved somehow.

* * *

At supper, I sat to my uncle's right. Celeste sat on my other side and Éowyn sat to Théoden's left. The conversation was amicable and talk was diplomatically kept away from the subject of war. Éowyn looked happy and I noticed her gaze drift to Aragorn several times during the meal. While the thought of her with any man made me uneasy, she could not have chosen better. A match between them would strengthen the alliance between Gondor and Rohan.

The object of my own affection sat to my right. I noted that her left hand was beneath the table, resting on her leg. Without drawing attention to us, I dropped my right hand and rested it gently atop her left hand and gave a gentle squeeze. She returned the squeeze and lifted her hand back up to the table to resume eating.

After the meal, I watched her leave the room with my sister. While I had been hoping to see her that night, I decided that I'd look for her later. Instead, I hung back at the table with my uncle. The others were milling about the room, enjoying the comfortable feeling left by a good supper.

"Uncle," I began, wanting to talk out my plans with another man who knew me well.

"Yes, Éomer?" he asked.

I bit my lip while thinking of what I wanted to say. "Celeste." It was the only word that I could get past me at the moment.

"She's a fine girl. I bear no ill will towards her, if you were worried of that," he reassured me.

"That isn't what I wanted to address, but it is good to know," I answered. Knowing that Théoden was fond of Celeste would make this conversation easier.

My uncle was quiet for a minute, trying to guess what I wanted to ask. "You are in love with her, are you not?" he asked after a time.

"I am," I said, feeling better to have admitted it properly. The way that I'd told Celeste had not been the declaration that I'd intended. "And, if we both survive this war, I intend to continue courting her."

"You wish to marry her?" Théoden asked.

"Someday," I said, "is it so surprising?"

"Not at all. She matches you well. But do not forget that she will outlive you."

I'd known that all along. It was an unpleasant fact that I'd been pushing out of my thoughts on a regular basis. When Théoden said that she would outlive me, he meant that she would live forever, while I had, at best, another seventy years.

"But, if she is agreeable to the suit, I would give you my blessing," he declared, standing up.

"Thank you, uncle," I said.

"She would make an excellent, if unconventional, queen," he said, "but I do caution you to slow your advance. While I am sure that she cares for you, I am not so sure if she is as ready as you are to return your feelings."

I nodded in understanding and thanked Théoden again for his advice before leaving the hall. I made my way to the stables to tend to Firefoot. It had been too long since I had spent time there.

* * *

I quickly found out that Éowyn and I had much in common. While she had taken her taken her uncle's side in our dispute out of loyalty, she congratulated me for standing up to him.

"Does Éomer know that you harbour such… rebellion?" I asked her.

She laughed openly and answered, "of course he knows. But he turns his head and pretends that I am a lady all the same."

"Pretends you are a lady? Why wouldn't he think you a lady?" I asked with curiosity.

"Because I know how to use a sword and would prefer to do so rather than hide in a cave while a battle takes place," she answered seriously.

"Perhaps he doesn't want you to get hurt," I answered feebly. I knew that while this was probably the reason, it made little sense as I was allowed to fight with the men despite my femininity.

"It's different for you," she said, "you're from elsewhere. And you were always expected to fight. You're a legendary hero that has come to us at the turn of the tide."

"And you're a shield maiden of Rohan," I interrupted, "and you will find your fight."

"I hope you're right," she answered, her voice having gone soft.

"I don't understand why you're so eager to run headlong into battle. I, myself, dread the sound of screams and the sight of blood, I admitted. This was the second time that Éowyn had expressed such a desire to fight and it worried me. She had her own reasons, I was sure, but if she wasn't careful, she would become someone else's reason for vengeance.


	21. Chapter 21

Sorry for the long delay, I'm now working three jobs and don't have as much time as I used to to write. Still, I'm determined to finish this thing and get it edited up and made all pretty.

Alexis, thanks for the helpful review. POVs is something I've spent a lot of time thinking about. While this is currently my first draft, I do plan to edit it and improve the grammar, readability, plot, characterization, etc. I'm between the ideas of adding more distinctive voice to each character or switching to third person omniscient.

Without further ado, the first POV is Celeste's.

* * *

Later that night, I left Éowyn and went down to the stables. I hadn't seen Dior all day and meant to go give him a good brushing and make sure his stall was clean. When I arrived, I was surprised to be greeted, not by the stablehand, but by Éomer.

"Celeste! I was just going out to look for you," he announced.

I smiled broadly at seeing him and stepped into the stable, "I came down to see my horse. I was going to find you later, but I seem to be doing both at once."

"I was hoping that you would go for a ride with me," he suggested, motioning to the horses. At the sound of the word 'ride', Dior began to swish his tail expectantly.

I looked between Éomer and Dior, and laughed at Dior's impatience. "I'd like that. And I'm sure Dior would too. He's been kept in the stables since we arrived at Edoras."

"He'll be happy to stretch his legs outside the city walls," Éomer said, patting Dior's neck while he saddled him.

"Outside the city walls?" I repeated, remembering my last trip out of the city.

"You'll be safe on horseback. And you won't be alone," he answered, reassuring me.

"And you're as fearsome as they get," I joked.

Éomer growled with mock ferocity and threw his arms around me, shaking my body from side to side. I squirmed to get away from him, pushing myself out of his grasp.

"Alright, alright," I consented, "you're fearsome enough."

"I'd hope so," he said, winking.

I pulled myself onto Dior's saddle and, beside me, Éomer did the same. He led Firefoot out of the stable at a slow walk. I followed with Dior at a slow pace. Once outside the gate, the horses picked up pace and began to run across the open plains.

We followed a packed-down dirt trail for several miles, before turning back and slowing the horses so we could talk.

"I still haven't thanked you for reconciling with my uncle," Éomer said.

"It needed to be done. Meduseld felt as tense as a taut bowstring," I answered.

The reference made Éomer laugh, "I like your sense of humour." His smile faded and he lowered his voice to a more serious tone, "I'm grateful to you for many things Celeste. You bring hope to a people that have been ravaged by war for many years. And you bring hope to myself – that I may have a happy future."

Did he just say the word 'future'? Because that nasty little word meant that he was describing commitment, which I wasn't prepared to get into. I fumbled for the right thing to say: polite, yet noncommittal. "I'm glad that I've been helpful in my time here."

Éomer stopped his horse and took a long look out on the plains. The sun had set hours ago and the flat lands were eclipsed with the long shadows of nearby hills. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but some of the shadows were banded together and seemed to form a dark hand grasping at the land that was just beneath it. I shuddered, trying to get the image out of my head. It would do no good to think about failure. Sauron would be defeated.

"Aye, you have," Éomer concurred, "but what I've been trying to say, in my own clumsy way, is that I've fallen in love with you Celeste." He turned to face me and gave me a look so intense that I was forced to flick my eyes downwards to the reins in my hand.

He'd mentioned this before, when he'd held it over my head during my quarrel with his uncle. Now he was declaring it properly, and I knew that he'd want a response. But I was clueless as to what to say. I was beginning to love him, yes. But if I told him that I returned his feelings, that would imply a sort of commitment between us, which I wasn't ready to undertake. _Should I say 'thank you'? Or pull a Han Solo and say 'I know'? Or just change the subject?_ Quickly passing the possibilities through my mind, I decided that words were too dangerous for the moment and that I'd run the risk of leading him on or hurting him.

So, instead of opening my mouth to reply, I urged Dior to Firefoot's side, leaned into Éomer, and gave him what I hoped would be a romantic kiss. However, the movements of Dior's shoulders as he walked jostled my balance and I toppled over into Éomer's lap. While it wasn't the gesture I'd intended, our mutual embarrassment covered up the awkward moment. I could give him a better kiss later.

* * *

She hadn't told me that she loved me. True, she hadn't said anything to suggest that she didn't love me. But all the same, she hadn't said it. Which meant that I could only guess at her feelings. And, having been raised around more horses than women, I could not interpret the subtle signs that proved that a woman was I love. With a horse, interpreting its mood was easy: they possessed all of the complex emotions of men, but showed them plainly in action and expression.

At the very least, I could see that she was attracted to me. She'd shown it clearly in the way she'd pulled me into a fiery kiss the moment our horses were secure in the stables. Being nighttime, the stable hands had all gone to sleep and she'd taken advantage of our privacy. Thinking back on how I'd pressed her up against one of the beams, I guessed that I'd taken as much advantage as she had.

Now, lying alone in my bed, the memory of those kisses brought lust to the forefront of my thoughts. Celeste was a beautiful woman: tall and strong with slender, supple curves… I shook my head to clear the thoughts from my mind. While Celeste was beautiful, she was no doubt chaste and would be offended by these kinds of thoughts.

I stretched my toes out under the furs and rolled into a comfortable sleeping position.

* * *

I couldn't sleep. A sick, foreboding feeling was sticking to the sides of my stomach like old pancake batter to a bowl. My relationship with Éomer was taking an unexpected turn. Love? Why did these things always progress so quickly in wartimes? While falling in love was a logical 'next step', I couldn't see why we couldn't have spent more time just 'liking' each other. _Like and love; now I sound like I'm back in high school._ This was awkward. And what would I do if he popped up the L word again? I couldn't keep swapping my reply with a kiss. Worse yet, what if he mentioned it in public? The thought of having to answer to him in front of other people sent a shiver through my back. _Éomer isn't stupid, he wouldn't do that._

I sat up in my bed, clutching a feather pillow to my stomach. For the first time since arriving in Middle Earth, I was acutely aware of wanting my adoptive mother. Anita had meant everything to me that Lúthien had not. She had taken care of me and brought me up through all of my awkward years. She'd patiently listened to me complain about school, my first jobs, and the first boys that I fell in love with. After Jeff had died, I'd called her, in tears.

In many ways, the problems I'd had with Jeff were similar to the situation I was now having with Éomer. With Jeff, I'd had no problem giving up my virginity and spending a good portion of my free time with him. But, when it came to telling him that I loved him, I was reluctant. I'd known the weight of the phrase from past relationships and hadn't wanted to toss it around lightly. What I hadn't counted on was his life being tossed away just as lightly.

With Éomer, I was just as reluctant to say the same words. But the life at stake now was my own. Legolas had tried to gently explain to me the fate of elves who fall in love with mortals. Aragorn, who was in love with an elleth himself, had given me other insight, warning me to be cautious, but to trust my feelings. And then there was that damn prophecy. Why had my brother even bothered to write the stupid thing down? We all would've been much better without it.

_She will win the fight, but at the cost of the man she loves. For he is doomed. But do not despair, she will relive the story of this family and find happiness. _Although Jeff had died, I'd certainly gone on to find happiness, some for myself and some for Éomer. And his passing had given me an inner toughness that I had drawn on in Helm's Deep. I could only hope that whatever force was keeping me alive would hold until Middle Earth had been cleaned of Sauron's stain.

Thinking of Sauron brought another point to mind: what if one or both of us didn't survive the war? Wouldn't it be better, then, not to confess what I was beginning to feel until it was safe enough to build a lasting relationship? If a lasting relationship was what I wanted after the war.

I should have eaten more supper. It's an unfortunate certainty that, when their mind is full and their stomach empty, even the laziest person won't be able to fall asleep.

* * *

I sat outside on the steps to the hall, pipe in hand, watching the morning sun crawl over the mountaintops in creeps and staggers. From the stirrings behind me, I could hear that the household was all beginning to wake up. Now that Celeste and the King had made their peace, it would be a bright day, unburdened with the tension that had mounted between the two. They were each powerful in their own right. Théoden: earthly and bound to his kingdom by birth. Celeste: ethereal and bound to defend Rohan by right. They were alike, both strong and possessing of deft flashes of boldness.

Celeste was also like the King's niece, Éowyn. For all of Éowyn's attempts at subtlety, it was plain to see that she was falling in love with me. What she saw in a weather-beaten ranger from the north was out of my sight.

There was only one woman who I could bind myself to; she was sailing over the seas to the Valinor, or would be shortly. Although my heart ached to return to Rivendell to be at her side, I knew that my destiny was here with the broken remnants of the Fellowship.

I thought then of Boromir, the passing of Gandalf the Grey, and the departure of the hobbits. I was failing as a leader. What kind of a man joins such a quest without the desire to be king when he is finished? Gondor did not need me. And, while I was tethered to Meduseld, the White City would be tested against the armies of the Black Lord.

I fixed my gaze on a spark that had appeared on the mountainside. Another followed it, this time closer. Were there dragons? There hadn't been any here in hundreds of years. The realization of what the lights were dawned sharply: the beacons had been lit. I dropped my pipe on the stone steps and ran into the Golden Hall at the fastest sprint I could muster. If the beacons had been lit, then Gondor's need must be dire and there was no time to waste in getting to Théoden.

I burst into the Hall, drawing the eyes of everyone who was seated to breakfast. Panting from the run, I yelled out what I had found, "the beacons! The beacons of Minas Tirith are lit!" Théoden, Éomer, Celeste, Legolas, Gimli, and all of the soldiers in the room gave me their full attention. "Gondor calls for aid!" I finished.

The King gazed at me for a moment, as if questioning whether I was correct. He then looked to Éomer and Celeste. The elleth looked to the ground uncomfortably. Returning his gaze to me, he made his decision. "And Rohan will answer! Muster the Rohirrim."

* * *

No poem today, too tired.


	22. Chapter 22

Alexis: no problem!

Robo-Kyo: went through your edits and fixed 'em all except the quotation marks. I couldn't find the error. If you can point it out specifically, I'd be grateful. :)

First POV is Celeste's.

* * *

The hall became a mad house of activity very quickly. After Aragorn had announced that the beacons had been lit, the King had decided to go to Gondor's aid. Perhaps our argument had affected him, or perhaps he'd known all along that it was the right thing to do. In either case, he hadn't stayed in the hall long enough to explain his reasoning. Instead, he'd left the hall at a brisk pace to order preparations for the muster.

I'd followed Éomer into the stables to find Dior. The stables were even more crowded than the hall. All of the soldiers were trying to find their horses at once. To reach Dior's stall, I'd had to squeeze and duck my way through the crowd of burly men. With my armour under one arm and my saddlebag and swords under the other, it was no easy feat.

I gasped with relief when I squeezed into the stall with Dior. Setting my things down, I began to organize, putting most of the armour and my father's sword into the bag and tying it to Dior's saddle. I strapped Éomer's sword to my belt and slipped the leather vest over my torso, buckling it up securely. Although the chances that we would be ambushed by orcs would be slight, it would do good to have some extra protection over my vital organs. Thinking of protection, I fingered the crystal on the chain my mother had left me. I hoped that I would not need its healing properties.

Within minutes, the crowd in the hallway had filtered into the stalls. Each rider had mounted their horse, ready to leave the stable. The rows farthest from the main doors left first. Éomer was one of them and led the group up the hill to a field outside the Golden Hall. I wasn't far behind him. Behind us, hundreds of riders made a neat procession out of the barn, forming a long line up to the Hall.

The King was waiting for us on the steps, clad in full armour. He looked to Éomer to give his order, "assemble the army at Dunharrow, as many men as can be found. You have two days." Clapping his nephew on the shoulder, he added, "on the third, we ride for Gondor… and war."

War, I thought, it was what we'd all been both dreading and anticipating. I'd been kept docile in Edoras long enough; I was glad to finally be doing what I'd been put here to do. _Ironic, many humans live their entire lives wondering what their 'purpose in life' is and here I am, fully aware of mine. And it is no real gift._

Éomer led the group outside the city walls, where the horses formed semi-circles around him. Dior stood in the centre of the first row. Out of respect, the other riders had allowed me a place of honour nearest to their leader.

I chanced a look behind me and saw no other women amongst the riders. I thought this was a disappointment, as the Rohirrim could nearly double their fighting force if they allowed their wives to fight as well. They had just as much of a reason to defend their homes. But this wasn't Canada and gender equality didn't have the same meaning here. Eorlingas women held a position that was equal in status to the men, but that didn't involve fighting. In a country in which the population had declined because of war, women held too much of a biological importance to be soldiers.

Éomer thumped his spear against a rock and, with shocking immediacy, every head turned to silently face him. "Now is the hour, Riders of Rohan," he began, looking each of the men in the front row in the eye. "Oaths you have taken," he yelled, "now fulfill them all! To Lord and Land!" He pulled his spear up and raised it into the air, shouting, "hah!" He reared Firefoot and turned away from the city, spurring his horse into a fast run out onto the open plain. The group, made of several eoreds, followed him, leaving their homes and city behind them as they rode for war.

For the first few hours of the trip, I rode in silence, not talking to any of the other riders. My mind had entered into a kind of trance, loosely focused on the bobbing of Dior's head, the movements of the horses and riders in front of me, and the open grass that slid by under Dior's hooves. In my state of mindless distraction, I hadn't noticed the approach of a rider from behind me until he was riding at my side and yelling my name.

"Celeste! Celeste!" called a small rider beside me.

I turned my head sharply to recognize one of the first friends I'd made in Rohan. "Dunheld!" I exclaimed, "it is good to see a familiar face ride with me."

"Familiar? Isn't the face of the King's nephew even more familiar to you than my own?" he teased.

My face coloured and my tongue stuck to the bottom of my mouth.

"Edoras may be a large city, but its inhabitants often have small minds. Most of the Rohirrim know of your courting," he explained, and then added, "but they would be slow to reproach you for it. I think that they are glad to see that the heir to the throne is a happy man. Few of us remember what it was like when Rohan last had a queen."

I couldn't help but bristle at that last comment. I wasn't planning on marrying Éomer. Not now, not ever! I wasn't even sure if I planned to remain in Middle Earth after the war was over. If I could, why not go home? _And be a gym teacher again._ I began to doubt whether that would really work. Could someone really go back to their previous life after a war? I remembered the stories if shell-shocked world war veterans who had gone insane after the fighting had ended. _War made with machine weapons is more detached and mindless. Fighting with a sword and shield will not be the same – I will survive this._

I fingered the crystal around my neck again. The little stone was my 'get out of jail free card' which nearly guaranteed that I would not die here.

"Was your wife sad to see you go?" I asked, changing the subject. It was an empty question, with an obvious answer. But it would steer Dunheld away from the topic of my relationship with Éomer.

"She was," he admitted, "I think she worries that I might not come back. But we Eorlingas treat death differently than our neighbours to the south. Instead of grieving excessively for the loss of a life, we are grateful that that person has lived. Each life is a gift. We seek not to despair in the natural process of decay, but to cherish the time we have spent with the people that we have loved."

I thought of Jeff and a slow smile floated to my lips. Yes, I was glad that he had lived.

* * *

It took the full two days to come to Dunharrow. Our group splintered over time, with groups riding to different parts of the Mark to bring more men to the fight. We stopped at every village we passed, adding more to our fold. Along the way, I had planned battle strategy and tried to come up with ways to combat different types of adversaries. I had been too busy over the course of the ride to see much of Celeste. I'd noticed that she was with Dunheld much of the time. I was glad that she had some company then. While I still wondered if she loved me, there were more important concerns now.

Dunharrow was an excellent place to camp. Perched in the mountains, we were less than a day's ride from Minas Tirith. The mountains provided cover for us so that our large group would not be seen. A large field in the shadow of the mountain provided enough space for thousands of tents. The marshals, officers, and the rest of the King's party camped on the higher ground. Several of the court women were here as well, so too the soldiers off. Which meant warm beds for the soldiers fortunate enough to have their wives travel to Dunharrow. Éowyn and Celeste would need watching tonight – there would be a lot of lonely men tonight.

My thoughts were interrupted by shouts from the soldiers. "Make way for the King! Make way, the King is here!"

I turned to see Théoden and his company riding along the windy path up the mountain. Aragorn was with him. And behind the two leaders, thousands of soldiers rode into the encampment. There were many Rohirrim men, but I still doubted that it would be enough. Sauron's army would be massive.

The King seemed to have the same thought in mind as he asked the marshals how many soldiers had come with them. "Grimbold, how many?"

"I bring 500 from the Westfold, my lord," he answered. _500? Surely the Westfold had more men than that._

"We have 300 more from Fenmarch Théoden-King," added another. _300 was hardly a boon to our fighting force._

"Where are the riders from Snowbourn?" the King asked, looking for their banner amongst the campers.

"None have come," said an officer.

I couldn't help but cringe. There were simply not enough men. Rohan was a populous land, but we had been fighting both Sauron and Sarumon for many years and it had taken its toll on our families. No doubt there were some men who were able, but hadn't come – they'd seen enough of war. Snowbourn, in particular, had been ravaged worst by the war. Nearly every village there had been burnt to the ground. They needed their men to build, not to fight and die.

"Six thousand spears; less than half of what I had hoped for," I heard the King say in a low voice as he overlooked the encampment.

"Six thousand will not be enough to break the lines of Mordor," Aragorn whispered, standing beside the King.

"More will come," Théoden said in a stubborn tone.

"Every hour lost hastens Gondor's defeat. We have until dawn then we must ride," decided Aragorn. Théoden nodded his head in agreement. It would be foolish to wait much longer. Our only hope of victory was to have men in Gondor still fighting the enemy. If we waited until all the Gondorians were dead, we would have to face the orcs alone.

I picked up Firefoot's saddle and walked back through the tents to find him. Perhaps grooming my horse would calm some of my trepidation. Brushing out Firefoot's mane and feeding him would provide the distraction that I needed, if only for a short time.

I saw Legolas and Gimli walking through the camp. I guessed that they had come with Aragorn's group. While the elf looked fresh and untired, the dwarf was showing the signs of a long ride. His walk was bowlegged and he kept rubbing at his thighs in an irritated manner. The dwarf was obviously not built for riding horses.

"The horses are restless and the men are quiet," the elf observed, looking around at the neighing horses and surly-looking soldiers.

"They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain," I explained, looking up at the grey stone that, while hiding us from sight, concealed a far deeper threat. My gaze trailed to a thin passage in the rocks, revealing a road that had not been taken by any living man in many years.

"That road there, where does it lead?" Gimli asked, pointing awkwardly to the path.

"It is the road to the Dimholt, the door under the mountain," Legolas said, answering for me.

"None who venture there ever return. That mountain is evil," I clarified. Every Eorlingas child had heard the tales of the treacherous men who'd hid in the mountains instead of aiding their countrymen. Isildur had cursed them never to die. It was a terrible punishment and it was said that their ghosts still haunted the inside of the mountain.

* * *

I was sitting around a campfire with Éomer, Gamling, Dunheld, and some of the other men. It had been announced earlier that we would be riding into battle on the next day. Naturally, the men had broken open a couple tankards of ale and were roasting a chicken on the fire and pulling pieces off to munch on. The whole thing seemed disgusting and less than civilized to me, but Éomer had insisted that I join the men there. He seemed convinced that I shouldn't be left alone, although I highly doubted that a Ringwraith would swoop in and kill me here.

Just as I was about to leave and find better company, Éowyn stepped out of a nearby tent with Merry the hobbit in front of her. She had dressed the Halfling up in full Eorlingas armour, with a helmet, shield, and sword.

"To the smithy, go!" she cheered, pushing the hobbit towards the blacksmith's tent. Merry ran off to the other end of the camp, brandishing his sword proudly. Satisfied, Éowyn rested her hands on her hips and watched the hobbit's retreating form.

"You should not encourage him," said Éomer, looking up at his sister.

"And you should not doubt him," she answered.

Sensing a fight about to begin, I moved to face Éowyn and watched the interactions between the siblings.

"I do not doubt his heart – only the reach of his arm," Éomer said. On my other side, Gamling snorted with laughter, spilling some of his ale onto the ground.

"Why should Merry be left behind? He has as much cause to go to war as you. Why can he not fight for those he loves?" Éowyn asked. Her face took on a serious expression and she began to leave the campfire, content that her parting words had made their impact.

Éomer, however, was not ready to see the conversation end. He stood up and walked towards his sister, saying, "you know as little of war as that hobbit. When the fear takes him and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold. Do you think he would stand and fight? He would flee. And he would be right to do so."

I frowned. Even if Merry fled, he would have nowhere to go. If what the wizard had said was true, Middle Earth would be swallowed whole by evil if good men stood by and did nothing.

Éomer put his hand on his sister's shoulder and added, "war is the province of men, Éowyn."

Men? What was I then? A she-hulk? I rose in anger to defend Éowyn. But Éomer was already leaving the campfire and Éowyn was heading in the opposite direction. Fine. If I couldn't stick up for Éowyn, I could still let her brother have it.

"Where does that leave me if war is for men only?" I demanded after jogging up to his side.

"With you it is different. There is a prophecy. And you are elven-kind," he answered tiredly.

"Bull-shit," I spat, knowing that he wouldn't understand the phrase. "I was raised a human. And even if all of Middle-Earth hadn't known about the prophecy, I would still want to fight."

"You were reared in a world far different from this one. Your values are different. Éowyn was not born to fight."

He had a good point there, but I was still determined to finish the argument in my favour. "What do values matter when those you love are threatened?"

Éomer's face softened and he looked at me with kindness. He put his hands on my shoulders and brought his face down to my level. "If you were ever in danger, know that I would fight for you to my last dying breath," he whispered.

How was I supposed to argue with him when he'd said something like that? Instead of tearing him to pieces, all I wanted to do was kiss him. Never mind that what he'd said sounded like he'd borrowed it from a B movie. _Or a sword and sandals epic. Which was essentially what we were in._ I pulled his face to mine and gave him a passionate kiss.

I would be riding to battle in the morning – why not enjoy a night together?

* * *

Cliffhanger! (ish)

Note: I think that I might be rushing too fast through these last few chapters. Lemme know what you guys think. By my best guess, there'll be about 30 chapters when this story's up. And don't worry - the plot hasn't leveled yet. :)


	23. Chapter 23

Note: I'm not dead. I've just worked a lot of overtime lately.

* * *

We didn't sleep together that night. Somehow I think that I'd expected that. The rules about sex were different here – more traditional. Love and sex weren't separated the way that they were back home. To sleep with someone, you had to be completely committed to them. If you were a girl anyway. From the way that the men in the camp were behaving, I could tell that some of them were enjoying some of the village girls who'd joined us to wish the Rohirrim luck. So it was perfectly alright for a man to have his one-night stands. _Maybe not so different after all. Perhaps the only difference was the open acceptance of a trend instead of the ignorant denial of a persistent double-standard._

So, instead of sleeping together, we slept together. Under the same blanket in the same tent.

I'd expected us to stay up longer and have some decent conversation, but Éomer had surprisingly few words to say to me. After we'd kissed several times, he seemed to have decided to stop talking altogether. He pulled off his outer shirt and pulled the blanket over the both of us. After pulling me close to him, he closed his eyes, seemingly intent on sleep.

I couldn't believe that that was it. We were together, before one of the biggest battles this world had ever seen and all he wanted to do was sleep? Why weren't we making passionate, earnest love? For a fleeting moment, I even entertained the thought that, perhaps, his attraction had waned.

I took a chance and shook his shoulder lightly, "Éomer?"

"Mm?" he mumbled. His voice didn't match the tiredness he'd been suggesting. He sounded wide awake.

I chose not to ask the most pressing question on my mind, but opted for a less direct alternative, "why are you sleeping?"

"In the morning, when I wake, I will have blood on my mind," he began. "By afternoon, orc blood will have stained the hilt of my sword and the leather of my tunic. I may seem the warrior to you, but I do not enjoy battle. And the night before the fight and the night after are long for me."

"But this battle is…" I trailed off on my sentence, trying to think of a good word. "Necessary."

"Is it? From what I understand of the story of the Ring, all of this might have never come to pass. If only the will of one man had been stronger."

I was familiar with the story of Isildur, and knew how he'd turned back from Mount Doom, selfishly keeping the Ring for his own.

"Aren't there better things than sleeping to keep yourself distracted?" I suggested, immediately regretting the request. I sounded desperate and easy. That wasn't how I wanted to present myself. Not to Éomer.

"I don't think so, Celeste. We need rest."

And that was how the eve of battle played out for the two of us. All around us, couples were having intimate farewells. But instead of having a moment with me, Éomer had rolled over and gone to sleep. I didn't quite understand.

That morning, the camp rose early and we had a rushed breakfast. Everything that could be spared was left at the encampment with the women and a handful of boys who acted as guards. We did not need our tents and bedding where we were going. Many of us, I thought grimly, would never have a need for a soft bed again.

* * *

I looked to Celeste who was riding her horse beside me. I was determined that both of us would return to Edoras. And in better spirits than we were in now. She'd been quiet since last night. Guiltily, I thought of how I'd turned away her conversation. And her offer of… other things. It had taken all my willpower to resist _that_ temptation. The impending battle had affected her judgment, freeing her inhibitions.

Resisting her last night brought the idea of marriage into my mind again. As a man, I wasn't sure if I could wait any longer for the war to be over. Assuming that it ended in our favour. Which, with the count of men that we'd brought with us, did not look likely.

The thought of turning Firefoot around and sprinting in the other direction played in my thoughts. I banished the idea as quickly as it came. For shame. The same idea had probably occurred to every rider in our group. How easy it would be for one of us to slip away. What difference could one rider make? _A lot of difference if others followed him._ I envied my men. While their role was still heavy in this, they did not bear the same burden of responsibility that Théoden carried, that I carried. I could not turn back, not from them.

If any of us had the right to turn back, it was Celeste. She hadn't had the choice in coming here. Regarding her strong stance and set jaw, I berated myself for complaining. If she could march headlong into this fray, I could.

* * *

I could smell Minas Tirith before I could see it. The men seemed not to notice the waves of stench rolling out of the valley the city was in and towards the hills. If the smell of decay was any indication, we would be riding into a siege that had been taking place for many days. I could smell the rot of bodies marinated in the blood of orcs and men.

Once, when I was in high school, I'd tried out vegetarianism for a month. Anita had tried to lure me back with a thick t-bone steak. When I'd refused, she'd left it in the refrigerator for me to 'eat later'. After several weeks, the meat spoilt and stunk up the fridge. It was the worst, most primal smell that I could remember and, still, it was nothing compared to the smell that came from Minas Tirith.

But the smell was little once the sight of the city came into view. Smoke curtained the fields, making it difficult to see the walls of the city clearly. From what I could see inside the city, pandemonium reigned. Soldiers and citizens were running in all directions, obviously expecting the end.

The Rohirrim paused at the crest of the hill over the city. Éomer closed the distance between us and reached his hand over to touch mine. I squeezed his fingers, thankful for the brief contact.

Théoden had ridden in front of us. His eyes were scanning the battle eagerly, trying to strategize. I looked sideways, at the line of men. Each had the same grim, determined face. To the far right, I caught sight of a face that stood out from the rest. There was a glint of something more lively in the eyes, the jawline set a little more tightly than the others.

The rider was no man. I slowly recognized Éowyn. And in her arms, she clutched Merry the hobbit. She'd been foolish to come out here. But there was pride in her decision. She would make a stand. I would have to try and watch her. Éomer would kill me if she got hurt.

"Éomer, take your Eored down the left flank!" commanded Théoden.

"Flank ready," Éomer called back.

"Gamling, follow the King's banner down the centre. Grimbold! Take your company right after you pass the wall. Forth and fear no darkness!" Théoden continued, before changing his tone. He was finished giving strategic orders. "Arise! Arise riders of Theoden. Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered, a sword day, a red day ere the sun rises!!"

The men all lowered the spears, pointing them towards the encroaching battle. Taking a deep breath, I followed suit.

The King charged his horse alongside the line, striking each spear with his sword as he rode. "Ride now, ride now! Ride! Ride for ruin and the world's ending! DEATH!"

The riders echoed his cry and chants of "death" were heard all the way to the back of the pack. I tightened my thighs around Dior's middle, preparing for the charge. Both swords hung limply at my side. I plunged my spear into the ground, having no use for it. I would need both hands free to use the swords. I grasped Beren's sword in my left hand and Éomer's in my right while I waited for the final call to ride.

* * *

"Forth Eorlingas!" my uncle yelled, his voice loud and rushed. There was no more thoughts of turning back. Now was the time to ride.

* * *

"CHARGE!" Théoden yelled, swiveling his horse and riding ahead of his men into the fray. That was the last word I heard from the King for many minutes. My ears were suddenly deafened by the thunder-roll of thousands of horse-hooves beating against the ground. A surge of adrenaline coursed through my body as Dior charged forward without any persuasion.

Together, as horse and rider, we bolted forward. My head rushed as we surged forward downhill. By some miracle, the steep fall didn't topple us. We just kept riding forward. And, behind us, six thousand Rohirrim just kept coming.


	24. Chapter 24

I'm not dead. I've just been occupied. But I'm not quitting till I'm done.

* * *

I steered Dior hard to the left to follow Éowyn and Merry. Despite the swirling cloud of riders surrounding us, I would not let them out of my sight.

We crashed through the first line of orcs. The spears shook in the creatures' hands as we charged. I'd once read in a story that a soldier on horseback was three times as lethal as a soldier on the ground. And now six thousand knights of the round table hit a line of orcs with the force of a bullet striking tissue paper. It was an impressive start.

I swung out both swords, keeping them tight to the palms of my hands, and relishing each impact. The blades collided easily with the orc armour. Because of my height atop Dior, gravity worked in my favour, adding force to my downward strike. _This was too easy._

"Drive them to the river!" yelled Éomer. I adjusted my direction to comply with the suggestion, fighting orcs towards the river. If we could push them back, behind Osgiliath, into the water, the water would kill them. Orcs were not able swimmers.

Complying with Éomer's suggestion, I swung Dior hard to the left. I brandished both swords high in the air and screamed with as much volume as I could muster, "Aiiiiiiiiiiiiyaaaaa!" I was close to Éowyn's horse – she was riding maybe twenty feet away. I tightened my grip around Dior's flanks and urged him to run faster.

The sound of loud, booming footfalls diverted my attention away from Éowyn. I jerked my head around trying to identify the source of the noise. A cluster of enormous elephants were charging towards the city. _I don't believe this. Elephants?_ Atop the beasts rode groups of dark-skinned men, clad in turbans and loose robes. They looked nothing alike to any of the cultures of Middle Earth that I'd encountered so far. One man, if you could call him a man, was riding on the thick of the elephant's neck and holding what looked like colossal reins that were tied to the beasts's tusks. The rider's face was tattooed in fearsome stripes and his eyes were open very wide.

His defiant stance reminded me of the ancient Celtic warriors who ran naked into battle to scare their opponents. His appearance was all intimidation. Gritting my teeth tight to my jaw, I swore that I would show him no fear.

"Re-form the line! Re-form the line!" ordered Théoden from within the crowd of Rohirrim.

I pulled Dior back to match pace with the riders behind me. Horses and riders skirted in front of me, blurring my line of sight. I could no longer see Éowyn ahead of me.

"Sound the charge! Take them head on!" yelled the king. He'd moved further up in the lines and now rode beside me. Our eyes locked for a fraction of a moment as he regarded the riders to his immediate left and right.

My hands tensed on Dior's reins. This would be a fatal charge. Horses were hardly a match for giant elephants. Our only strength was in numbers. If some of us managed to break through the line of elephants, we might be able to take down the beasts from both sides.

At the King's yell, the line of horses ran forward, determined to win the fight. I cringed as I saw many of the horses get trampled under the feet of the giants. I was not far behind them and swung out both swords. I had no bow and arrow, cutting into the elephants' legs seemed my only option.

"Stay steady, Dior," I whispered as the first elephant came near. I spun the swords in my hands and speared the elephant in both calves. I wasn't as lucky on the hind legs and only managed to nick one leg. I pulled hard on Dior's reins to turn him around to make another go of it. He reacted faster than I'd intended and I slid hard to the left over the saddle, nearly falling off.

I decided to use this position to my advantage and leaned farther over so that I'd be able to stab further into the elephant's right leg. The tactic worked and I was sure that I'd come close to striking bone. The great beast shuddered and blew its trumpet in fury before crumpling sideways, spilling all of its passengers onto the ground. I rode out from under the elephant, a triumphant grin on my face.

Around me, the remaining Rohirrim were either using a similar tactic or shooting the elephants in the eyes. Whatever they were doing, it was working. I could now focus my attention on finding Éowyn again and killing as many orcs as dared get in my way.

Slash. Stab. Slice. My swords were getting heavy with the dried blood of orcs. In disgust, I wiped each blade on Dior's saddlecloth. I'd killed what felt like thousands, why were there still so many orcs left? _How many orcs could there be in Middle Earth? Had Sauron sent every one?_ And orcs were the easiest of my enemies to defeat. There were the great cave-trolls, the last of the elephants, the Uruk-hai warriors, and the mysterious villains that rode above the battlefield atop scale-less dragons.

One of the winged creatures was close to the ground now, attacking men and horses. I spun Dior in that direction, hoping to get there quickly. By now, the ground was littered with corpses, debris, and discarded weaponry which made it difficult for Dior to find a clear path through.

I kept my eyes trained on the scene ahead. There was a rider pinned beneath his horse, but he was too far away to identify. A single Rohirrim soldier stood to defend him. I watched in horror as the beast moved to devour the pinned rider. But just as fast as the creature arched out its long neck to attack the man on the ground, the soldier cut off its head. The beast rose and fell dramatically before crashing to the ground with a loud thud.

I was only forty feet away now and could make out the king's standard on the side of the horse that had fallen. My heart clutched in shock. Damn the orcs that stood in my way. I redoubled my fury and struck out at every vile thing that stood between Théoden and myself. Just as I was sure that I had a free break for the King, a cluster of orcs made a rush for Dior and tried to unhorse me.

I pried my attention away from the Nazgûl that had dismounted the beast and turned instead to the more pressing problem. The orcs were all stabbing into Dior's flanks, trying to find gaps in his armour close to his body. I tried my best to disarm the orcs by swinging at their weapons, but the damned fiends held them fast to their wrists.

I jumped down from Dior and stood my ground between my horse and my enemy. The orcs looked surprised at my maneuver and lunged at me one at a time instead of coordinating their offensive. The first was an easy kill – he'd raised his sword high to strike down, which had caused his chest armour to rise, baring his belly. I stabbed into the exposed flesh and forced him to the ground before he had the chance to bring his sword to my head. The other three orcs ran for me at once and I had to concentrate hard to keep track of where their weapons were coming from so that I could parry the blows.

One orc clumsily tripped over a helmet lying on the ground and I cut off his head as he fell. I kicked another orc sharply in the chest, sending him to the ground long enough for me to stab my sword into the third orc's neck. As I recovered, the orc on the ground pulled at my boot, upsetting my balance. I hit the ground butt-first with my arms sprawled out behind me to stop my fall. Both swords fell out of my hands. The orc used his advantage and sliced his sword across my stomach.

"You're dead, she-elf!" he snarled, preparing his sword for another, more lethal, strike.

I pulled myself into a sitting position and groped for the knife tied around my ankle. I swung it in front of me in defense. The two blades clashed and slid dangerously against one another. The orc brought his weapon close to my neck. I struggled back, trying to force the sword away. All the while, the orc's sneering face came closer to my own.

Letting out a grunt, I kicked the orc hard in the legs, diverting his attention. In the second that his grip weakened, I pushed his blade away from my neck and leapt to my feet. The orc scrambled to his feet, but my kick to his leg made him lean awkwardly. Using my advantage, I circled around him, making it difficult for him to turn to face me.

Without warning, I moved in the opposite direction. The orc kept slowly turning in the circle I'd been working around him, a second behind me. Using the advantage, I brought my knife to the back of his neck and kicked him, face-first, to the ground to join his comrades.

I heaved a sign of relief and wiped my palms against my thighs to clean off the grime of the battlefield. After retrieving my swords, I turned my attention again to the King.

What I saw horrified me to the core. The Nazgûl was crumpling to the ground, shrieking as his accursed life escaped him. Standing before him was not an ordinary soldier, but Éowyn, niece of the King. She wavered where she stood, holding on desperately to consciousness before collapsing beside the King.

I dashed across the field, determined to reach her – to make sure that she was still alive. She could not die. _She should never have been here. I should have told Éomer that I'd seen her in the ranks. If she was dead, it would be my fault._ I forced my legs to move faster, defying the heavy cloth and armour that weighted them.

I was close enough now to see that there was no breath coming from the King's lips. He had passed. I choked on the lump in my throat, forcing my emotional reaction to come later. The concern of Éowyn was more pressing.

As I ran past corpses, my vision tunneled, so that the bodies of Théoden and Éowyn were all I could see. The battleground fogged around me, blurring out of focus. The world had been reduced to three people. One alive, one dead, and one somewhere in between.

The King was past any help that I could give him and his niece's breath was growing shallower with each shake of her battered body. I needed a doctor. A healer. _Anyone!_ Why hadn't I brought my first aid kit into the battle? I hastily searched her body for open wounds. Aside from her left arm being badly broken, I saw nothing but scratches.

"Aragorn?" she murmured, her eyes opening slightly.

"No, it's Celeste. Thank god you're still awake," I cried, pulling her into my arms and shaking her, trying to get more words out. Nothing.

"Éowyn!" I called out, letting her body sag to the ground. Her breath was fading. _I'd come too late._ I wanted to run back to the bodies of those four orcs and slice their bodies into crumbs for delaying me. Instead, I leaned forward and sobbed, clutching Éowyn's head to my cheek. My tears ran over her face, mixing with dirt and bloodstains, before running into her hair. On a numb impulse, I rubbed my sleeve against her cheek, trying to wipe her face clean. As I swabbed her face, my thumb caught on the thin chain that hung around my neck. Frustrated, I jerked my thumb free. The chain broke and landed in my hand. Éowyn lay in my arms near death and I'd broken my mother's necklace to boot.

_My mother's necklace_. The fluid inside the crystal could heal.

In an instant, I'd forced Éowyn's mouth open and cracked the jewel between my thumbnails over her tongue. A single clear drop spilled out and danced down onto her tongue. I slackened my grip on her jaw and let Éowyn's mouth fall closed.

And then I waited for some miraculous change. I strained my ears to hear a breath fall from her nose. Nothing. Had I waited too long? _Why weren't her eyelashes fluttering open? Why wasn't she my Snow White?_ Éowyn!

Again, I began to cry. I flopped openly against the king's dead horse, holding Éowyn tightly, afraid to let her go in case she moved.

The battle was ending around us. Men and horses were triumphing. And a green mist overtook the field, spelling the life out of every orc it passed. I should have been happy at this, but the body in my arms weighted me down, pulling me into darkness. I'd fought long enough and I could no longer hold my eyes open.

* * *

The dead army of the mountain had earned their freedom. Every orc within five miles lay dead on the ground. A ground that was littered with more than just orcs, I noted with sorrow. Men of Gondor and of Rohan lay in the mud with as much dignity as the beasts that lay beside them.

I left Aragorn's side and wandered into the field, searching for the men that had been in my eored. As I looked towards the mountain, I saw little movement: a handful of men searching for their comrades and dozens of horses looking for their masters.

One of the horses approached my side. Dior.

"Where is Celeste?" I asked him, hoping that she was not amongst the bodies strewn across the ground.

Dior nudged my arm with his nose and began to walk slowly to a less crowded patch of ground. It was farther away from the city and the count of bodies thinned as we came closer to the mountains.

I saw her hair before anything else. A flash of orange across muddied armour. Her body was propped against my uncle's horse and she held a soldier in her arms. The body of the king was beside her, pinned to the earth by his horse.

"Nooooo," I cried out, breaking into a run. _It could not be, she could not be. Not dead._

I did not recognize the body of the soldier in her arms until I was mere paces away from the scene. It was Éowyn. My sister. For what reason had she come into this fray? Why, why had this war claimed the most precious of things?

"Nooooooooooooooooooo."

* * *

Review?


	25. Chapter 25

I've had a little more time to write now that midterms are over. Here's #25:

* * *

--

It was very quiet when I awoke. Too quiet, my hearing was still enveloped in the fog of battle. I strained to clear my head and listen to the sounds around me. _There had to be sounds, there were always sounds. Like Toronto, Middle Earth was never quiet. Toronto. Canada was somewhere very far away and I would never see that place again. North America was a part of another lifetime. It wasn't real anymore. Just a shallow place that lacked depth and tradition. All fury and no sound._

While I thought of home, I tried to wrench my senses outside of the constraints of my mind. Sound came first. Muffled stirrings around me. I was in a quiet place and I was not alone. I could hear people walking around me. Other people were motionless and breathing deeply. I thought I heard a whimper from a little farther away. I heard my own heartbeat from within my chest; it was a soft, steady sound that nearly lulled me back into my slumber.

The sense of touch came back next. There was a heavy fabric over me that kept me warm. I hadn't been cold since I'd come to Middle Earth, my elven blood had prevented that, even in the rainy misery of Helm's Deep. But the blanket's warmth was pleasant, nonetheless. The weight of sleep gradually fell away and I began to stir impatiently.

In the dark, someone called out my name, "Celeste!"

I opened my eyes to see who it was. But was confronted with many faces at once. Éomer. I blinked. It was good to see him. Aragorn. Legolas. Gimli. There should have been others. I tried to remember what had happened before I had gone to sleep. There had been a battle and I had been trying very hard to save someone from dying. Someone who should not have been there. I looked to Éomer in confusion. _Who?_ Éowyn.

"Where is she?" I said suddenly, almost yelling in my urgency.

Aragorn put a hand to my chest and pushed me back down onto my bed. I hadn't realized that I had been trying to get up.

"Relax, Celeste. She is more alive than you are," Aragorn said, pointing to a woman standing by a window. "It was you we worried for. We could not wake you after the battle."

"The battle," I said slowly, "we won then. Sauron is defeated?"

Éomer looked at Aragorn uneasily. "Not exactly," Aragorn answered, "while he did send most of his army to Minas Tirith, he still has thousands of orcs left in Mordor. And there is still the Ring."

"Ring?" A ring seemed a bizarre addition to a conflict. I had heard something about a ring before in the campfire stories the men had told.

"Yes, it is his own magic ring, to which his life is bound. He will die once it has been destroyed."

Now I remembered. How could I have forgotten? "Then we better go find it," I said, pushing my way up into a sitting position.

"It has been found," Legolas cut in, putting a hand to my shoulder.

I became uncomfortable with all these people touching me and brushed both Aragorn and Legolas' hands away in annoyance.

"The ring is with Frodo and Sam. They are taking it to Mount Doom where it can be destroyed," Aragorn explained, "but that is not your worry just yet. You need more rest. We will have a council tomorrow morning to decide what to do next. If you feel well, we would gladly welcome your company."

"I'll be there," I decided.

"Very well," Aragorn answered, standing up to leave with Legolas and Gimli. That left only myself and Éomer.

Éomer. He was nearly as problematic as the war itself. I wanted to be in love with him, but our differences would not be easily reconciled. Differences in race, tradition, and homelands. I might have done better never to have met him for all the headaches he had caused.

"When I saw you lying against the king's horse, with Éowyn in your arms, I thought that you were dead," he admitted. "And I thought that she was dead. The two most precious people to me, snuffed out at the whim of an orc."

"But I'm not dead," I interrupted.

"No, you're not. And neither is my sister," he said. He took my hand in his and rubbed my fingers between his roughened palms. "I am grateful to the Valar to have you both alive and with me today. I would be a lesser man without you both at my side."

I wasn't sure of what to say then. I didn't really want to talk. After the battle, talking seemed like an insignificant echo of action. As I watched his lips move as he talked, I was overcome by the strong desire to kiss him. Unfortunately, a hospital room in Minas Tirith wasn't the place for it.

"Am I going to be staying here permanently, or is there some more private part of the city we can go to?" I asked.

Éomer looked surprised at my interruption, but nodded in agreement. "We have a room for you nearby, if you're ready to move. Your things have already been brought there."

--

This wasn't working the way I'd meant it to. I'd told her that she was one of the most precious people in the world to me, and she had been more concerned with leaving the House of Healing. There were so many things that I just wanted to shout out to her – that I loved her, that I never wanted to see her endangered again, that I wanted her to love me, to return with me to Edoras as my wife. Most of all, I wanted this uncomfortable limbo we were in to end. I wanted to court her properly without this dance of death surrounding us.

Then again, these were things that might better be said in a room alone than in the company of hundreds of wounded and dying soldiers.

I'd never intended for any of this. I was Rohan's king now, as much as the title chilled my skin. The King had always been Théoden. Théodred son of Théoden was supposed to rule Rohan, not Éomer son of Éomund. Who was this Éomer-king and what right did he have to lead Rohan? He was a capable soldier; aye, he had that to his credit, but King? And kings had to take queens. Marriage, something I'd avoided as Third Marshall, was now a necessity. And thank the Valar that I'd met Celeste. If I hadn't met her, I might have been forced into an arranged political union.

Remembering that Celeste had not yet consented to marrying me, the possibility of a political marriage had not been ruled out.

We walked out of the Houses of Healing and into the adjacent corridor. Her room wasn't far, but still, Celeste seemed intent on hurrying. Judging by the briskness of her gait, I assumed that she was already much improved.

As soon as I had closed the door to her room behind me, Celeste pinned me to the wall and leaned up to kiss me. Her mouth crashed against mine and her hands, still bruised from the battle, wrapped around the back of my head, pulling me deeper into the kiss. I kissed her back and pushed away from the wall. I turned the pair of us around and forced her back against the wall. She didn't object, and kept kissing until I had to pull away, breathless.

Once the kiss had ended, I wasn't sure whether to kiss her again, or to try to start a conversation. My groin wanted to continue and perhaps steer her towards the bed. But that course of action would do me no good. I would not allow myself to bed her until after I married her. And I couldn't marry her until I had her consent.

With that thought in mind, I knelt down on the stone floor before her, holding her hands in mine. I looked down at the stone, trying to steady my mind for what I was about to ask. I took a long breath in, a warrior's trick to steady his hands when holding a sword. But what I held in my hands now was much more valuable.

I looked up into her eyes, trying to find a visual anchor – a target. She looked confused, and her mouth hung open by a crack.

"Éomer, what – did you drop…?" she began, trying to riddle out what was happening.

"Celeste," I interrupted, "this war will soon be over. What remains in Mordor is but a shadow of Sauron's force. By the will of good men, we will defeat this evil." This wasn't what I'd meant to say, so I led my speech back to my purpose, "you have given me hope, Celeste. And I have come to love you. And I would gladly see the day that you stand at my side in Rohan, as my wife."

That seemed better, more romantic. I again focused myself towards her face, waiting to see her reaction. Her mouth had widened and she was standing in silence.

I tried again, "Celeste, will you marry me?"

I had hoped that she would say yes, embrace me, and kiss me like she had done only moments ago. At the very least, I had hoped that she would say yes, so I could do those things to her.

Instead, she pulled her hands away from mine and turned her back on me. Her shoulders had slumped forward and her head was not held as high as it had been. I have never been as conscious of the beat of my heart as I was then, for it seemed that it stopped beating entirely and I was trapped, knowing that it would not beat again until she spoke.

And, slowly, she turned to face me. Her eyes were redder than before and her mouth had closed again into a tight lock. "Éomer," she whispered, "I enjoy being near you, talking to you, and kissing you. You are a good man and will be a strong King. But we are from very different worlds. While I may deny my heritage, I am elvenkind. I will never die."

Terror numbed my mind as I struggled to come up with some justification for what I felt and how it could work. "Could we not just enjoy what time I have? I am not an old man, Celeste." It was stupid. I was stupid. And I deserved a scathing response.

Instead, she gently shook her head. "No, Éomer. You are still a man, and you will die. I cannot love you, and I cannot marry you."

She could not love me? Not even love, without marriage? I wanted to say something, anything, to persuade her, but all I could muster was a choking cry of pain. The new King of Rohan, brought to his knees by a woman's rejection. Not woman, I reminded myself, elleth. Why had she chosen to be immortal?

She must have felt as awkward as I did, for she tried to speak to kill the silence, "I might have been able to keep this sort of relationship up for a few more months, maybe a year or two. But it would have had to have ended somewhere, Éomer."

She was right. While we might never have married or formalized our bond, it could never have lasted. Not for as long as I'd wanted. Then why had we started at all? I was angry now, and wanted to grab her, shake her and demand why she had allowed me this far, why she had made me fall in love with her, if only to make me suffer?

I stood up, my hands balled together with the effort of restraining my fury. For the first time since I had met her, Celeste looked frightened. But I didn't care. Without realizing it, I'd taken three steps towards her, and she was backed up close to the door once again.

But instead of kissing me, as she'd done earlier, she softly said, "I'm sorry" and left through the door like a coward.

I let out a cry of fury and whaled my fist against the stone doorframe. The pain of the impact didn't register in my mind. There was nothing I could do, I had lost her.

--

PS. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. It's been a tremendous help.


	26. Chapter 26

Here's #26. I'm sorry that it took so long. I do intend to finish this story, little by little if need be. thank for the pleasant reviews. we'll be starting off in Celeste's POV.

* * *

Well, now I'd screwed it up. As soon as I'd denied him, I'd regretted it. My stomach hurt and I wanted to turn around and run back into the room and leap into his arms again. But what I had said back there had been all true. He would die. And I really would live forever. We were fucked no matter what. And why prolong that kind of pain? It was cheap and cowardly, but I needed to make this a clean break before I fell in love with him.

I just hoped that he would understand in time. When I'd left the room, he'd looked so angry. As if he would have torn me in two if I'd stayed a second longer. But at the moment, I felt as I'd been torn in two regardless. If I'd thought that ending our relationship would have made my life better, I'd been stupid.

I walked through the hallways without a destination in mind. I was still wearing the clothes I'd worn in the battle, although my armour had been taken off in the hospital room I'd woken up in. I hadn't seen myself in a mirror, though I was sure that I was still dirty and bloody from the fighting. And my hair was probably mussed.

I wiped at my face, trying to rub off dirt that I wasn't sure was there. I needed a bath. At the end of the hallway, I spotted the arched doors into the hospital I'd been in only moments ago. Someone in there might know where to find a bath.

"Lady Celestina!" cried out a woman when I stepped in, "is everything alright?"

"Yes, I'm feeling fine. I was wondering where I should go to get a bath," I answered, feeling silly not knowing the building I was in.

"Of course, I'll take you to the bathhouse," she said.

I looked around at the crowded hospital and noted its lack of doctors. "You don't need to take me there. I should be able to follow directions. You look busy."

The woman, more of a girl, really, touched my arm and steered me back towards the door. "The Citadel is a confusing place, and I would be more than happy to escort you myself."

"If you insist," I replied as she all but pulled me out the door.

"My name is Lothiriel," she added, once we were again in the corridor. "And you've just briefly rescued me."

"Rescued you?" I asked, wondering why the hospital was so horrible.

"I enjoy my work. Being a healer's apprentice is fulfilling. But the House of Healing has become so crowded that getting outside to breathe is a rarity." She paused a moment, eyeing me curiously before beginning again, "Lady Celestina, weren't you just with Lord Éomer? Did he want a bath as well?"

"No, I do not think so," I replied, planning out my answer, "he is attending to a personal matter right now." I hoped that 'personal matter' wasn't too obvious but gave her enough of the story to know better than to ask.

Lothiriel took the hint and changed the subject, "Lady, I'm sorry, I forget that you must be tired. The bathhouse is not far. Do you need someone to fetch your clothes?"

"That would be good," I answered, adding, "you don't have to call me 'Lady'. 'Celeste' will do fine."

"I understand. I hate it when anyone calls me 'Lady Lothiriel'. My brothers all call me 'Lothy' instead. At first I hated it, but when I got older and all my father's friends started calling me 'Lady Lothiriel', I found that I much preferred my childhood name."

"Lothy it is then," I agreed. "How many brothers do you have?"

"Three," she said, pausing before a stone doorway. "Elphir, Amrothos, and Echirion."

"This is the bathhouse?" I asked.

"Aye, the attendant will find you a tub. I will have someone bring your saddlebags to you so you can put on a fresh dress."

I almost opened my mouth to tell her that I wouldn't be wearing a dress, but I realized that she would have to hurry back to the Houses of Healing, as she called it. She obviously had better things to do. I, on the other hand, had nothing to do now that the battle of Minas Tirith had been won. But after I'd bathed, I intended to have some supper and get a long night's rest. Provided that Éomer was gone from my chambers.

Inside the bathhouse, Derdola, the bathhouse mistress, showed me to a private tub and made sure that I had soap, shampoo, and towels. I thanked her profusely before closing the door and sinking into the steaming tub.

I lay back against the edge of the tub and watched the steam rise in lazy tendrils. My mind was filled with thoughts of Éomer. I'd broken his heart by letting things go too far. To be fair, I'd never known the intensity of his feelings towards me.

And there were my own feelings to consider. I hadn't loved Éomer in the way that he had, but I was nonetheless hurt by the breaking in our relationship. He had been a good friend, and a good kisser.

Bitterly, I remembered our night together at the encampment. While he hadn't expressed any interest in having sex with me, he'd given me a gentle kiss goodnight. And, in the ebbing light of the fire outside the tent, he'd rested a heavy arm across me and held me loosely as we both fell asleep. By morning, he'd rolled so many times in his sleep that we were at opposite ends of the tent. I'd quietly watched him from my side of the tent. Hair had fallen in his face and the breath from his nose made the strands dance before his closed eyes. It was a wonder that the hair had tickled him awake. He must have been exhausted.

I, too, was, exhausted, I thought as I sat in the tub. I had been so lost in my thoughts that the water had already started to cool. Had it not been steaming hot only a moment ago? I splashed water on my face to wash away the salt of my tears.

The bath had cleansed my skin and relaxed the tense muscles in my back and shoulders, but it had done nothing for the soft ache in my stomach. Perhaps I had been hit there in the battle and hadn't bruised.

There was a knock at the door and I hurriedly wrapped one of the towels around my torso and stepped out of the tub.

"Come in," I called softly.

A girl in her mid-teens entered carrying my saddlebag. I took it from her and set it on the bench before thanking her for the errand. She curtsied and left me to change.

I opened the bag and rummaged through the many contents. All of the things that I had packed at a moment's notice in Toronto. When I had been Celeste Petrovna instead of Lady Celestina. I shook my head, trying to clear that part of my life away. I'd begun a new life in Middle Earth … and already I'd mussed it up. From the bag, I retrieved a comfortable pair of jeans, a grey tank top, and a snug zip-up sweater.

I dressed in moments and folded the towels and set them beside the tub. I thanked Derdola on my way out of the bathhouse and retraced the route back to the Houses of Healing and to my temporary room.

I opened the door very slowly, ducking my head close to the door and listening closely for sounds of anyone inside. The air was very still, not a single breath stirred the dust. Satisfied that Éomer was not there, I crept inside and set down my bag on the chair closest to the door. I sat down on the bed and drew my knees up to my chin in a tight hold. My mind went numb and I felt the tears returning to my eyes.

I didn't want to waste my time crying alone in my room, so I forced myself out of the bed and into the hallway again. I'd explore if I had to – anything to get me out of that room. _The room where it happened_.

I wound my way through hallways until I came to a kitchen. Uncertain of what to do, I walked into the adjacent dining room. Once inside, the happy hum of people eating and talking was audible. I looked desperately around the room for Éomer, but didn't see him. _That was good, this room was safe_.

I sat down at a table with Legolas and Gimli and took a plate from the stack at the centre of the table. There were platters and baskets in the centre of the table filled and heaping with meats, rolls, cheeses, and fruits.

"The Gondorians say that it s'not much," said Gimli as he added another roll to his plate, placing it atop the three he'd already procured and making a neat pyramid.

"It looks like a bloody brilliant feast if you ask me," I answered, helping myself to some of the meat and layering it between bread to make a sandwich.

"Funny way to eat yer food, lass," commented the dwarf, "but I s'pose it's all the same in yer belly."

A ghost of a smile crossed my lips. Legolas took quick notice and his sharp eyes met mine in concern. I forced my lips in a stronger upward curve, but it was too late. I hoped that the elf would be kind enough not to confront me later. I covered the moment by taking my first bite into my improvised sandwich. It wasn't bad, but could have used some cranberry sauce for flavour.

"You look better. We were worried that you'd be spending the rest of the week in the House of Healing," Legolas commented.

"But I wasn't that badly hurt!" I protested.

"Yes and no. You were in a sort of sleep state, according to Aragorn. He said that your body and mind needed a reprieve from the battle."

I didn't like the answer, so I decided not to reply. I averted my gaze downwards to the plate of fruit. There were a dozen apples there – they must have been in season. It was a miracle that the orcs hadn't destroyed all the crops.

"Lady Éowyn is still in the House," he continued, "she has been healed of the Black Breath, but is still very weak. And her arm is still healing from the Witch-King's blow."

I winced as I remembered the dismal scene on Pelennor Fields. I had watched the Witch-King attack Théoden and then Éowyn. She had barely survived, not thanks to my help. If only I had run a little faster, reached out with a little more force – I could have helped her instead of watching her get beaten into the ground by an immortal foe. I was the fighter, the heroine of legend and I couldn't even gave helped my own friend.

"I will visit her before I retire," I said quietly, setting my unfinished sandwich down on my plate. I did not feel like eating it. Grief over Éomer and guilt over Éowyn filled my stomach with lead and stalled my appetite.

"Ya gonna finish tha', lassie?" asked the dwarf.

"No, I should… go" I answered, not bothering to say where. I stood up as calmly as I could and took a moment to push my chair back into the table. Legolas' eyes followed my actions and he, too, stood up.

"Celeste, wait," he called, "I'll go with you."

I almost denied him, thinking that I wanted to be alone. But company could help ease the pain, I reasoned. And Legolas would be able to understand better than anyone why I had left Éomer. So I nodded my assent and slowed my pace so he could walk beside me.

At the table, Gimli grumbled loudly, but turned happily to the rest of my sandwich.

"Something is wrong," the elf stated after we'd left the busy dining room.

I sighed, holding my breath in for several seconds before letting out in a shaky gust. How could I begin to tell him what was wrong? _I didn't belong here. I'd broken Éomer's heart. I had no place to go now that the fighting was done. Théoden was dead and Éowyn was badly hurt because of my inactions. I saw carnage whenever I closed my eyes. And my heart felt like it was breaking._

"Everything is wrong," I said in a rush.

Legolas nodded and steered me out onto an empty balcony. We sat down on a bench, and I began to speak, "I've gone and done it. I've left him. He was asking me to marry him, Legolas. And I said no."

My eyes were burning and I knew that the tears were coming, so I quickened my speech to get everything out before my voice would be muddied by sobs. "The King is dead and Éowyn almost died as well. I could have saved them. I'm supposed to have saved them. They shouldn't have died – none of the men should have died. I still see them, Legolas. I don't belong here, this isn't my world. The wizard must have found the wrong girl. And I've nowhere to go when this is over. I thought – I thought I could go to Rohan, but now, I've… I've gone and ruined…"

That was all I could say before my body lurched forward in a body-shaking sob. "I, I can't!" I cried out while I clutched my arms into a desperate self-hug.

"You would be welcome in Mirkwood, Celeste. My father would be honoured to have you as a guest."

"Guest? I don't want to be a guest – I want a home."

"It would be your home, in time. And, you do belong here, very much. You've killed just as many orcs as any of the men have. And you persuaded the King of Rohan to ride to Gondor's aid."

"And to his death!" I interrupted, before sobbing once again. I had lost Théoden as quickly as I had gained his respect.

"It wasn't your fault. No one could have saved him. Men don't live forever, Celeste," Legolas said soothingly as he stroked my hair and tried to wipe away my tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

Men don't live forever. That comment served only to remind me of Éomer and what I had done to him. But how could I apologize without restarting our relationship? There was no way, he was lost to me. My sobs quieted and were traded for an aching guilt in the pit of my stomach.

"I don't know how the elves have the stamina to live forever," I said, my voice stained with my despair.

"Forever is not as long as men think it is. Time is not such a burden when it is filled with the many joys of life," he said, putting his arm around my shoulder and drawing me into a half hug.

I hoped that he was right, but my mouth felt too dry to say anything more. Thankfully, Legolas had sensed my need for sleep. He pulled me to my feet and led me back through the corridors to my room. I was grateful that we didn't see Éomer on the way.

When we stopped in front of my door, Legolas wished me a good night, adding, "If you need anything, you can talk to me, Celeste. If nothing else, we could be great friends."

Exhausted from crying, I nodded my head in response and walked into my room alone. On my second step into the bedroom, I nearly tripped over a piece of paper lying on the floor. I picked it up, noting that it was a letter. Someone must have slipped it under the door while I was at dinner.

I unfolded the thick paper to see wide, masculine handwriting. Tears choked my throat two sentences into the letter and I had to sit down to finish it so that I would not tremble and fall down.

_Celeste,_

_I am deeply sorry for my angry outburst earlier today. It is not how I would have you remember me, should we never see each other again. But, no matter the outcome of this war and of this life, know that I will never stop loving you. As much as your rejection may pain me, I know that the pain will fade and that I will not die of a broken heart, as you might have if we had married._

_Be happy again. And take care of yourself. I fear to watch over you for what it might do to us both. I would have loved you until the end of the world, but it seems that you wish for me to stop after the end of this day. It is a day that I will remember._

_Yours,_

_Éomer_

As much as I wanted to crumple the letter and throw it out the window, I resisted the urge. Instead, I folded it back into its original shape and tucked it away in my saddlebag before beginning a night of restless sleep.

* * *

I've left on a sad note, but I promise that it'll get better.


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N**: I'm back! THis story has been sitting, unfinished on my harddrive and I had the sudden impulse to finish it. His chapter is shorter than most, but I felt I ended it in the right place.

* * *

I wasn't sure why I'd written the letter. I might have done better to let some more time pass before trying to communicate with Celeste again. I had written the letter with as much restraint as I could muster. I'd had hope that if I apologized and showed a small degree of sanity that she might reconsider or, at the very least, might not remember me as an enraged brute.

I tried to distract myself by joining some of my men in the armoury, but it did little to calm my nerves. My belly ached with a nagging guilt even as I joined the men in stacking spears and putting away swords and armour. While the Battle for Minas Tirith was over, Sauron was still strong and could still wreak havoc on Middle Earth. We needed to be prepared for many more battles to come.

After an hour of heavy lifting and stacking, I was called away by a messenger from Aragorn. As the uncrowned King of Rohan, I was being called to attend an emergency council meeting of the free leaders of Middle Earth.

As I followed the messenger to the Great Hall, he attempted to warn me of the topic of conversation, "The White Wizard will lead the discussion. I hear he has a plan to rid Middle Earth of Sauron's evil."

"I hope it's a well-thought plan," I answered. "The men we have are tired and weary of battle and Sauron himself is undefeatable."

"They say there is a way to kill him," the messenger said. "Lord Elrond devised of a way many months ago."

Yes. While I had not attended the Council of Elrond, I had heard that Elrond and Gandalf had sent the Ring of Power to Mordor in the hands of a Hobbit. While the Hobbit, Frodo, had been accompanied by a fellowship of eight others – including two men, an elf, and a dwarf – the group had sundered and no one had heard from the brave Hobbit.

I reached the Great Hall and paused a moment at the doorway. The messenger bowed respectfully and left my side. I walked into the Hall, taking note of ts occupants. Gandalf stood near the throne, with Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas standing in a loose circle around him.

I approached Aragorn and clasped my hand to his shoulder. "Thank you again, my friend. Éowyn is much improved and walks freely through the Houses of Healing. If you hadn't been quick to attend to her, I might have lost her."

I didn't mention his treatment of Celeste. Legolas seemed to notice the omission and gave me a contemplative look. Think of her was painful; just having her name in my mind made my mouth dry and my throat tight. I couldn't bear to mention her name aloud. Even in the company of my closest friends, I feared the reaction her name would inspire in me.

"It was no trouble, friend," Aragorn answered. The heir to Gondor had the gripped jaw of a soldier and the grey eyes of a philosopher. "She is a blessing to your land, Losing her would have been a sorrow too great to bear."

I nodded, but felt the need to move discussion away from the women in my life. Thinking of Éowyn led me to thinking of Celeste. And of the letter I'd left for her the night before. Surely she would have read it by now.

"Can we begin?" I implored f the wizard.

"We are waiting for the last of our company -" Gandalf began, but was interrupted by the opening of the east door. "- to arrive." Celeste entered the room, the last to join our council. By looking at her, it was impossible to tell that she'd been through a battle just days before. She had bathed and was wearing a silver dress in the Gondorian style. I doubt she noticed my stare – she was well occupied with looking away from me.

"Well then, we can begin," Gandalf began gruffly. "Frodo has passed beyond my sight. The darkness is deepening."

"If Sauron had the Ring we would know it!" protested Aragorn.

"It's only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there! Let him rot!" Gimli cried out. "Why should we care?"

"Because 10,000 Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom," Gandalf answered.

Celeste understood and wrinkled her forehead in frustration. We all knew that, if left alone, Sauron's army would regroup and multiply. We could postpone the fighting, but more battles were surely inevitable.

"I've sent him to his death," the wizard whispered, leaning heavily on his staff.

"No," Aragorn said, walking into the centre of the circle. "There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" asked Gimli.  
"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

Gimli choked on his pipe, coughing and sputtering smoke. I chanced a look at Celeste to gauge her reaction to Aragorn's idea. Her face looked neutral, but her eyes sparked with understanding.

"We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," I noted aloud.

"Not for ourselves. But we can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's eye fixed upon us. Keep him blind to all else that moves," he explained.

"A diversion," Celeste added, a small smile forming on her lips. Legolas caught her eye and nodded, a smile on his face as well. I felt the sting of jealousy – the elf could look her in the eye and smile a her, but I could not.

The dwarf, as always, was oblivious to the emotional intricacies of the conversation. "Certainty of death, small chance of success, what are we waiting for?" he bellowed.

Certainty of death indeed, I thought. Aragorn's plan was a dangerous one. Mordor would be heavily guarded, no doubt. And success relied on the assumption that the Hobbit was alive and close to Mount Doom. Last anyone knew, Frodo had been in Ithilien.

Gandalf seemed to share my worry, adding, "Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait."

_Bait?_ Were we to be the bait?

"Oh, I think he will," Aragorn answered, looking to Celeste.

"He's right," she added. "All of the people Sauron fears the most are gathered in this room. He will stop at nothing to have us killed. It's this fear and this loathing we must count on to exact our plan."

I blanched. Of course, Sauron's orcs had already made an attempt to capture Celeste and the Dark Lord's fear of the Heir of Elendil was well known. But, while I could see the wisdom in the ploy, the thought of using Celeste as bait for Sauron made my stomach lurch. If she was at the front lines, visible to the enemy, I would not be able to protect her. _If she even wanted my protection._

* * *

It was settled then. The remainder of the Rohirric and Gondorian armies would leave Minas Tirith tomorrow morning for the Black Gates. If we won, the war would be over. People would be able to rebuild their homes and their lives. And, perhaps, I would be able o go back to Toronto.

Yet, as soon as the thought came into my head, I pushed it away. I couldn't go back there. What had my life been there? A gym teacher, living alone and paying too much in rent for a tiny apartment. My life in the city had no real direction. I recalled countless Saturday afternoons wasted in my apartment. Evenings spent missing Jeff, wishing he hadn't died. In Middle Earth, I'd seen far greater horrors than I'd seen in my quiet Toronto life; but I'd also experienced far deeper joys. I'd seen people living – really living – and fighting for their freedom. There was no apathy in Middle Earth. I'd made real connections with the people I'd met. Forged friendships, fallen in love.

I was momentarily startled. _Love?_ Had I really fallen in love with Éomer? I thought back to the conversations we'd had and the kisses we'd shared. I felt a warmth creep through my stomach and into my heart. He'd sworn to protect me, asked me to marry him. A part of me wanted to run back into the Great Hall, throw myself into his arms and plead for him to have me back. _Love?_ I tested the word, letting it soak on my tongue. Yes, I loved him.

But loving a man like Éomer came with risks. Not only was there the prophecy – which clearly foretold the doom of the man I loved – but it was wartime. There were no guarantees that we would both survive tomorrow's march on the Black Gates. What point would there be in letting myself love him only to watch him die? I couldn't. Perhaps, if we both survived the battle and Sauron was vanquished and... and there was some semblance of stability in this land. Then, only then, could I risk revisiting the possibility of love between Éomer and myself.

For now, all I could do was wait. _And fight like hell when tomorrow came_.

* * *

Reviews are awesome. Hint hint.


End file.
